Forever Mine
by HardyBoyz4Eva
Summary: Chris/Phil. After an unexpected accident at Raw 1001, Phil miscarries his baby and falls into a frustrated, angry depression. Now, his entire life revolves around his WWE Championship. Can Chris show him that there is more to life than the gold? Slash. Please Review! Co-Written by coleypunk-y2j.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters mentioned are owned by us.  
**Rated:** M (Mature)  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Mpreg, etc.

* * *

It shouldn't have ended like this.

He was Phil Brooks, CM Punk, _and_ the 'Best in the World'. He had held the WWE Title for over two-hundred days. But now, none of that mattered anymore. When Paul had thrown John into Phil and both had crashed down behind the announce table, it was like his entire world had crashed down around him. It didn't matter anymore. Pain had wracked his body when he made his way into the match and took out both John and Paul. Blinded by unbelievable pain and a hurricane of hormones, he ruined the Number One Contender's Match to determine his opponent at SummerSlam.

Of course, that had totally backfired on him. AJ, the new General Manager of Raw, decided to make his match at SummerSlam a Triple Threat. She taunted him with the fact that now, all of the spotlight was on him, exactly like he wanted it to be. Phil didn't understand what her problem was. He had told her exactly how he felt about her. He had been totally upfront and honest about it. If she should be mad at anyone, it should be Daniel Bryan. He was the one who had hurt and abused her. And sure, she embarrassed him... but now, she put _him_ in the Triple Threat match? That didn't make sense.

"I'm sorry, baby." Phil mumbled softly. His stomach hurt. His whole _body_ hurt. "I never meant for you to be hurt by this. It was only an accident, I swear. I shouldn't have even been out there..." Phil looked down at the blood on his thighs. He felt sick.

Phil walked into the bathroom and showered. He wanted to be clean and not be forced to remember the accident every time that he looked at his body. It made him feel weak and useless. He scrubbed at his skin until the tattooed flesh was raw and burned terribly. But he knew that that wouldn't make a difference. He had lost his baby. So he climbed out of the shower and walked back into the locker room with a towel around his waist. Chris was there waiting for him. The blond had a look of satisfaction on his face because of his recent victory over Dolph Ziggler and The Miz.

"Philly? What's the matter, baby? That outburts out there... it's not like you. Not at all." Chris said. He wore a look of concern on his face.

Phil didn't answer immediately. He dressed himself in loose jeans and a dark t-shirt. He was still incredibly uncomfortable. "I'm fine, Chris. I just want to head back to the hotel, okay? I'm kind of tired."

Chris looked at him uncertainly. "Of course, baby. Are you sure that you don't want to see the trainer first? You took a nasty fall out there." Chris asked. "I just want to make sure that you're okay."

Phil shook it off. He was in pain, sure, but if he didn't make it to a bed soon and take some Tylenol, it would hurt like a _bitch_ in the morning. "Please... just take me back to the hotel room. I'm really tired."

Chris looked him over once more. "Sure, baby. Whatever you want."

* * *

Phil awoke in the early morning to find himself held gently against Chris' body. No matter how comforting the older man's touch was, nothing could make him feel better about the loss of his baby.

He gently unwrapped Chris' arms from around his torso and got out of bed. The dull achiness in his muscles was masked by the burning fire he felt in his abdomen. The instant the pain hit him he was doubled over with tears welling in his eyes. He managed to make his way to the bathroom, where he took some more Tylenol before he collapsed on the cool tile floor.

"I'm so sorry," Phil whispered to his stomach. The tears of pain he felt in his eyes were pushed down his face by the rush of sadness he received. He trailed his bony fingers over his flesh gently. That's when he noticed the dried and fresh blood coating his thighs.

Through the pain that was slowly subsiding thanks to the Tylenol, Phil pushed himself to his feet and turned the shower on. Once steam rose from the shower head, he got in and started scrubbing the blood from his skin. He knew he'd have to do something soon; for now, though, all he needed was to be rid of the crimson color staining his alabaster skin.

Once he deemed himself clean enough, he got out of the shower and wrapped a fluffy white towel around his waist. He headed out of the bathroom to find Chris in bed still, but with his iPhone held near his face.

"Good morning, baby," Chris said with a smile. He set his phone aside and rolled out of bed before he crossed the room and gave Phil a kiss. "Did you sleep well?"

Phil couldn't bring himself to look into Chris' eyes. He feared that somehow, he'd be able to see what he was feeling. He didn't want to worry him.

"Yeah," he finally murmured. Without even looking, he could feel the concern rolling off of the blond.

"Is something the matter?" Chris asked seriously.

Phil shook his head and forced himself to look into Chris' bright blue eyes. "I'm fine, Chris. I'm just really sore."

"You're not acting like yourself, Phil," Chris commented with a small sigh. "You were fine until last night…"

"I'm _fine_," Phil insisted somewhat loudly. He took a step back from the blond and ran his hand through his wet tresses. "I'm going to get dressed and maybe go to the gym later. I'll have my phone on me, so text or call if you want."

"I could go with you, Philly," Chris began quietly. When he realized that Phil wanted to be alone, he sighed again. "Or I could do something else for the day. That's okay. Have fun at the gym. I love you."

"Love you too," Phil said before he grabbed some clothes and headed towards the bathroom again. He wished he could spend a day at the gym, but he knew that his day needed to be spent at the doctor's.


	2. Chapter 2

"I texted Shawn. He said that I could come over to his hotel room and we'll hit a movie later, then if we have time we'll head out to dinner. Is that okay with you?" Chris asked, his eyes still fixed on his I-Phone.

"That's fine." Phil answered nonchalantly. The shower had calmed him somewhat, but he still felt awful and to make matters worse, a second wave of nausea hit him. "Just make sure that you two are careful."

Chris nodded and started to dress. He selected his favorite white jeans and a loose black t-shirt with different symbols on it. "I'm always careful, baby. Are you sure that you'll be fine on your own?"

Phil swallowed hard and nodded. "I'll be fine, Chris. Why don't you worry about yourself for once?"

"Because you're my baby and I love you, that's why." Chris said. "Now, I should be back around seven. But if I'm late, I don't want you to wait up for me, okay?"

Phil nodded again. "Okay, Chris."

True to his word, Chris left a half-hour later to spend some time with Shawn. Occasionally, Shawn would still travel with the WWE because he missed his husband, Hunter. And not that Hunter would ever admit it out loud, but he missed his loud-mouthed Texan too. But, in this case, Shawn was still around from the DX Reunion on the 1000th Raw and he would be with the WWE for another week or so.

Phil was thankful that Chris hadn't asked any more questions. Immediately after the tawny blond left, Phil took another shower. There was a fresh coat of blood on his thighs and the towel was ruined. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to explain that to room service, but at that moment, he didn't really care. Once he was sure that the blood flow had stopped, he turned off the water and dried himself off with a fresh towel.

Now, at the very least, he felt confident enough to dress himself and know that he wouldn't ruin his clothes. But even then, all he could force himself into was a pair of loose gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt that was a bit more form-fitting. It was the middle of summer and he really couldn't afford heatstroke, but none of that mattered to him. Phil had never felt colder or more alone. He carefully sat down on the end of the bed.

Phil took out his I-Phone and dialed the '6' button. It was the speed dial for his doctor's office. _"Hello. You've reached Chicago Medical Associates. Would you like to make an appointment or do you need to speak to a doctor?"_

Phil swallowed hard and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. That nausea had returned full-force. "Hi. This is Phil Brooks. I need to make an appointment to see Dr. Carole as soon as possible."

_"Mr. Brooks? The appointment books says that you were just in for your monthly check-up. Dr. Carole doesn't have any appointments available unless it's an emergency. Is there a problem with the baby?"_ She asked.

"Yeah. I think that there is a problem with the baby." Phil couldn't force himself to actually say the words.

_"Dr. Carole did inform you that you should head to the nearest hospital in case of emergency, didn't he?"_ She asked worriedly. _"They would be able to handle your case immediately."_

Phil shook his head, even if she couldn't see it. "I miscarried, okay? There's blood everywhere and I'm in so much fucking _pain_. It's too damn late for the hospital!"

_"Okay. Calm down, Mr. Brooks. Dr. Carole has an appointment available at six. Can you make that?"_ She asked.

"Yeah." Phil wiped the tears from his face. "I'll be there."

Phil wanted to take his phone and throw it at the wall, but he didn't. Instead, he set it on the bed beside him and scribbled down the information about the appointment. He then took out his wallet and made sure that he had his insurance card with him. Tucking all of this into his sweats, he stuffed his feet into his nearby tennis shoes and grabbed the keys to his rental, before leaving the hotel room.

* * *

Chris arrived at Shawn's hotel room a few minutes later and the southerner welcomed him with open arms. He was invited into the hotel room, which looked like a small tornado had just hit it, and Shawn motioned for him to take a seat at the table. Once he took a seat and made himself comfortable, Shawn vanished into the other room and came back with two diet sodas. One was root beer and the other was Coke.

Shawn served them into two tall glasses and threw the cans into the recycling bin. He handed the root beer over to Chris. However, no matter how nice it was to be able to spend the day with an old friend, it was hard to take his mind off of Phil. Phil was his world and the fact that someone or something had hurt him killed Chris inside. Not to mention the fact that Phil didn't trust him enough to tell him _what_ it was.

After several minutes of tense silence, Shawn decided to break the ice. "What's the matter, Chris?"

"It's Phil." Chris swallowed back the rest of his diet soda and set the empty glass on the table in front of him. "I don't know what's gotten into him. He's not acting like himself."

"When did Phil start acting, well, weird?" Shawn asked.

"It started last night, after Raw." Chris explained. "Before Raw, he was acting happy and upbeat. That in itself is weird, but it's better than the dejected look he's carrying around now. I-I don't know if I did anything wrong."

"I doubt you did anything wrong." Shawn assured him. "Have you asked him what the matter is?"

"Of course I have. He won't tell me anything except that he's fine, although he clearly isn't."

Shawn sat still for a minute, lost in thought. "Well, how about instead of sitting her and obsessing over his behavior, we go out and do something?"

"Sounds fine by me. You wanna catch that movie?" Chris asked. He certainly wouldn't mind a distraction from worrying over Phil for a few hours.

Shawn laughed, before he tossed back the rest of his soda as well. "Sure."

* * *

Phil continued to stare at the ground as the smiling nurse took his vitals, blatantly ignoring his state of distress. He didn't really mind, however. It wasn't like this whole mess was her fault, anyway. If he had only been a little bit more careful, none of this would have happened. He would be able to tell Chris that in a few months, they would have had a bouncing baby. Maybe it would have been a little boy, or maybe a girl… it was still too early to tell.

"Hello, Mr. Brooks." Dr. Carole said solemnly. He held Phil's file in his hands. Phil looked down at his hands in his lap. "I need to perform another sonogram. I'm going to need you to lie down."

Phil numbly swung his legs up onto the table and let his head fall back. He pulled the Johnny up to his chest and held it in place, all the while feeling like he was going to vomit. The doctor spread a line of the clear gel onto the handheld device, before he pressed it to Phil's skin. He hissed at the sudden cold and turned his gaze toward the monitor. His heartbeat started to accelerate when his worst fear was realized.

"I'm so sorry, Phil." Dr. Carole said softly. "But you've miscarried."

The reality hit Phil hard. New tears bubbled to the surface and slid down his face. He would do _anything_ to have his baby alive. He'd… He'd even give up the WWE Championship. He'd give up his _job_.

"No." Phil mumbled through his tears. He quickly palmed them away. "What are you going to do?"

"A procedure called a D&C. I can do it right in my office. The fetus will be removed from your body and you'll be free to leave once the anesthesia has worn off."

"Okay," Phil murmured, crestfallen. "Let's get it over with."

* * *

An hour later, Phil left the doctor's office feeling groggy and empty. Still the doctor had said that he was cleared to drive. He shoved the prescription for a pain killer deep into the pocket of his sweatpants and got into his rental car. Sadness engulfed his heart as he started to ignition. He decided that he wouldn't tell Chris that he had miscarried. He never told Chris that he was pregnant, so why tell him this?

"I can't say 'I'm sorry' enough." Phil whispered to his stomach. "I know you're gone now. I never met you, but I want to you to know that I love you and always will. Someday, maybe we'll be together."


	3. Chapter 3

Chris and Shawn had decided that, after the movie, they would head out to an early dinner at the local Olive Garden. Immediately, a waiter came over and took the orders for their drinks. Chris asked for a root beer, while Shawn settled for water. Menus were handed out and, a few minutes later, salad and freshly baked breadsticks were set on the table. Chris took a breadstick and broke it in half, before he started to eat.

"You're still worried about him. I can tell." Shawn said solemnly. He knew that it would be difficult for Chris to not think about Phil, but he had hoped that the blond wouldn't have to worry about it so much that it ruined his day out.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to ruin our day out. It's just that his behavior is so unusual. I feel like I've missed some obvious clue, but I don't know what it is." Chris said sadly. "What could I have missed?"

Shawn shook his head. "I don't know. I wish I could be more help, but I don't know Phil all that well. Maybe you would have better luck if you asked Hunter. He's known Phil since his days at OVW."

"Yeah." Chris nodded. "But Hunter and Phil aren't exactly on the best of terms, in case you didn't remember."

"Oh, I remember." Shawn said. "However, I'm sure that if I talked to Hunter, he would see reason. Take a chance."

The waiter came back and served them their drinks. He then took their orders. Chris ordered the chicken parmesan and a side of mozzarella sticks, while Shawn ordered spaghetti and meatballs with extra sauce. They turned in their menus and fell into a comfortable silence. Chris stirred his root beer with the straw, before he took a sip. The drink was a little bitterer than he was used to, but he could live with that.

When their food arrived, Chris started to cut up his chicken and twirled some noodles onto his fork. He took a bite and it was delicious, not that he had expected it to be any different. But for some reason that he just wasn't able to explain, he couldn't fully enjoy himself knowing that Phil was hurting. Who did Phil think that he was trying to kid? Chris had known him for several years and he loved him. He should be able to _trust_ Chris.

"I know someone else that I could talk to." Chris said softly. "Phil's younger sister, Selene. He tells her everything. But still… if he can't trust me with it, why would he talk to her about it?"

Shawn was silent for a moment. Chris made a point. "You won't know if you never try, Chris. But maybe it would be best if you waited for Phil to tell you what the problem is. He may be hurt if you find out through someone else."

"I just want to make sure that he's okay. He's my life and…" Chris couldn't even finish that thought.

Shawn reached out and patted Chris' shoulder. "It'll be fine, Chris. You just have to trust Phil."

Chris looked down at the table, crestfallen. "I _do_ trust Phil. That's not the problem. I'm worried that Phil doesn't trust me. Do you know how badly that hurts?"

Shawn nodded. "I've experienced my fair share of heartbreak, kid. No pun intended, of course. You learn from your past mistakes to make better decisions in the future. I learned to not judge a book by its cover."

"If you're sure that this is the best choice… then I'll do it. I'll do it for Phil." Chris said firmly as he stared into his root beer. He seemed mesmerized by the bubbly brown liquid.

"I _do_ think that this is the best choice. For now, at least." Shawn answered confidently. "And I will talk to Hunter and see if he can enlighten you on Phil's situation somehow."

Chris tried not to think about how much Shawn sounded like Damian Sandow in that moment. It would totally destroy the sentimental value to what Shawn had said. It meant a lot to Chris that Shawn wanted to help him fall back into Phil's good graces. And not even fall back into Phil's good graces, not really. He just wanted for his boyfriend to be able to talk to him and not feel like Chris was some kind of monster who would judge him. He had always been and always would be there for him. Surely Phil wouldn't have forgotten about that.

The finished their meal and Shawn and Chris split the tab, but Shawn covered the tip for the waiter. They walked back to Shawn's rental car and slid inside, turning the key in the ignition and feeling the car roar to life beneath them. As Shawn drove off into the rapidly darkening twilight, Chris checked his phone to see if Phil had texted him while he was out. He hadn't. While that wasn't unusual, it did unnerve him a little bit.

"Do you think that Phil's okay? He was at the gym all day and he didn't text me once." Chris said as he studied the black screen, a blank expression on his face.

"I'm sure that Phil's fine." Shawn tried to assure him again. "Don't worry about it. He was probably so focused in what he was doing to text."

* * *

Chris was furious. Thanks to that little brat, Dolph Ziggler, he had lost his match and now had several colorful bruises to show for his wasted effort. Once he was back to one-hundred percent, he made a promise to himself that he would kick that little brat's teeth in. Who did he think that he was, to mess with the 'Best in the World at all that he does'? He must think that he's pretty damn special.

But Chris shook off all of the anger and frustration that he felt. He plastered a 100-watt smile onto his face and stood outside of his private locker room, fighting to take several calming breaths. He didn't want to seem angry in front of Phil. Phil had barely talked to him since the 1001st Raw and it had broken Chris' heart to see the look of total dejection on Phil's face. No matter how hard the Straight Edge Superstar tried to hide it, it was still there.

For a moment, Chris contemplated knocking on the door. Even if they weren't talking much, Chris had convinced Phil to come with him to SmackDown and he had left the other wrestler alone for the duration of his match. But then he shook the idea off. After all, it was _his_ locker room too. Chris opened the door to the locker room and walked inside, and almost immediately Phil stuffed what he was looking at behind his back.

"What was that, Phil?" Chris asked. He was concerned, but he was also confused. He didn't remember Phil bringing any of his comic books with him.

"What does it matter to you?" Phil snapped back rudely. "It's mine. That's all you need to know. Just mind your own business, okay?" Phil closed in on himself and pressed himself further into the item hidden behind his back.

Chris shook his head sadly. "I'm just worried about you, baby. You haven't been acting like yourself lately. Please don't close me out like this. It hurts, Phil."

"Don't try to guilt me into a confession, Chris. Don't pull out that card." Phil said nastily.

"Don't you love me anymore?" Chris asked lowly, almost afraid of the answer.

"Of course I love you, Chris." Phil said as he sighed. "But this is personal. I don't want you to know about it. It doesn't involve you." Phil drove the stake further into Chris' heart.

"Fine," Chris said softly. He breathed out harshly and turned away from Phil. "I'll take a shower and then we'll head back to the hotel. Go back to whatever you were doing. I don't care."

Phil watched as Chris walked away with a small amount of guilt building in his core before he took the picture back out and stared at it longingly. It was the first picture of his unborn baby, taken when it was only a matter of weeks old. But to Phil, it was still beautiful. It had hurt when the doctor referred to it only as a 'fetus'. It was his baby. It had eyes, a mouth, and arms and legs. It was beautiful and precious and it was _his_. That was what made the baby so special.

"I'm so sorry." Phil murmured longingly as he stroked his fingers over the silky surface of the picture. His beautiful baby didn't move and it would never move, because it never had a chance to be born…

Chris finished his shower and dressed, and by the time he turned back to face Phil, Phil had already tucked the picture back into his pocket. Chris would never have to know about the baby. Never. The two walked out to the car, a considerable distance between them. The tension was so thick it could have been cut with a knife. But neither was willing to make that first step in reconciliation, and so it continued…


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning(s):** Slash, Mpreg, Self-Harm, etc.

* * *

Chris and Phil arrived back at their hotel room fifteen minutes later. The two men shared an uncomfortable look, before Chris broke off and walked toward the bed. Phil turned away and mumbled that he had to head out for a while. He didn't even wait for Chris to answer. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what that answer would have been. So, he tucked the keycard into his wallet and closed the door, before he walked over to the elevator.

Once he arrived downstairs, he walked outside into the darkness. He pulled the hoodie over his head and walked over toward the street. Chris still had the keys to the car with him, so Phil would have to walk to the pharmacy. He didn't mind, however. All of the time that he would be alone would allow him to think about the situation at hand and what he should do next. He reached into his pocket and took out the prescription. Vicodin. Damn.

That had been what was so addictive for Jeff. Phil had sworn that he would never become addicted to prescription pills ever since he was a child and saw how alcohol had influenced his father. But he was a little afraid of what it would be like if he didn't have the prescription filled and he went through the healing process without the medication. He was still bleeding a little bit and his stomach was still burning with pain.

His phone vibrated. Chris had texted him. _Where the hell are you? I turn around and five seconds later you vanish. I know we've had our problems, but I never thought that you'd walk out on me._

Phil rolled his eyes and texted back, _Whatever. I needed fresh air. I'll be back later._

Phil shoved his phone back into his pocket with a sigh. He walked on in silence until he came across a Walgreens to fill his prescription. The pharmacist behind the counter gave him a confused glance once he read the paper.

"Is this for pick-up, sir?" she asked.

"No, I'll wait," Phil said somewhat arrogantly.

The pharmacist rolled her eyes. "Okay, then; it will be ready in about an hour."

Phil walked off without as much as a nod of recognition. He wandered off aimlessly and came across where the sodas were kept. He grabbed a bottle of diet Pepsi and went to the register with it.

"Will this be all, sir?" the cashier asked. He nodded and handed him five dollars before walking off without his change or receipt. He unscrewed the top and took a sip.

What was he going to do now? He couldn't tell Chris about any of this. He couldn't tell _anyone_. He hadn't even had enough time to tell his precious sister, Selene, the news before his world crashed in on him. He was totally alone with this predicament.

He took another sip of his drink and felt sadness churn in his stomach. Since he couldn't tell anyone, how was he supposed to cope? Then his mind wandered to the WWE Championship. That was his pride and joy now. He'd fight tooth and nail to remain champion for as long as possible and further prove his "Best in the World" moniker.

_'But what about between shows?'_ Phil asked himself. Dr. Carole had told him to go easy on working out for a few weeks to give his body time to heal. He shook his head and opened his eyes. They landed on a display for a revolutionary new brand of razors for men and women. He perked up a little bit and went down the aisle for personal grooming. _'Maybe this will help,'_ he thought, as he grabbed a six-pack of disposable razors. He carried it and his soda back over to the pharmacy and took a seat against the wall.

The burning in his stomach still remained strong. It felt like an eternity that he waited until the pharmacist told him his prescription had been filled. He handed her the bag of razors and took out his wallet as she rang the items up.

"Do you have your insurance card with you?" she asked. He handed it to her, along with some money, before he grabbed the bag she put his razors and Vicodin in. He stuffed his wallet back into his pocket and stood in front of the seat he had just sat in earlier.

Phil ripped open the prescription bag and opened up the bottle. He shook a pill into his palm and swallowed it back with some of his soda before he capped it again and shoved it into his pocket. He also ripped open the bag of razors and put those in his other pocket. He stuffed the trash into the bag and threw it away in a trash can before he left the store for the hotel.

* * *

Phil jammed his keycard into the door of his hotel room before he thrust the door open. Chris was on the bed, and he jumped, startled, at his abrupt entrance.

"Where have you been?" Chris asked worriedly.

"It doesn't matter," Phil muttered loudly. He crossed the room towards the bathroom. "I'm back now, so who cares where I was?"

Phil heard Chris say, "I do," before he shut himself in the bathroom. Were those tear stains on Chris' face? Phil shook his head and emptied his pockets onto the counter. If he was going to be the best champion the WWE had ever seen, he couldn't worry himself over whether or not Chris was crying. That'd just distract him.

Phil turned the shower on. The sound of the water hitting the shower floor masked the sound of him stomping onto a razor with his shoe. The plastic broke apart and left the blades exposed. He quickly undressed and grabbed one of the blades before he got into the shower. He washed himself hurriedly and scrubbed the gel out of his hair before he gave himself a quick rinse. Once he was clean, he nervously sat down and held the blade in his shaky hand. _'Here goes nothing',_ he thought, before he pressed it to his calf and slowly dragged it over his flesh. Tiny droplets of blood kissed the blade and started to ooze from the cut once he moved the blade from his skin.

The adrenaline rush soared through his body rapidly. His stomach flipped once before he emptied the contents of his stomach in front of him. The water from the shower head slowly washed it down the drain. He watched in fascination as the blood from the self-inflicted wound trailed down his leg and mixed with the water to turn most of the water going down the drain pink. This could definitely help him cope with the loss of his baby.

* * *

Chris pressed his ear against the locked door and listened as the shower turned on. Shortly after, the sound of plastic breaking cracked through the sound of the water.

What in the world was his baby doing? Did he trip and drop his toothbrush or something?

He listened as the curtain closed and the water hit something – obviously Phil's bare skin – quietly. Fresh tears bubbled to the surface of his blue eyes and slowly trailed down his cheeks. He didn't want to push himself on Phil. He would definitely freak out if he did that. No, he had to wait for Phil to come to him, just like Shawn said he should. He briefly remembered what Shawn had said about his husband.

_"I don't know. I wish I could be more help, but I don't know Phil all that well. Maybe you would have better luck if you asked Hunter. He's known Phil since his days at OVW."_

Chris hurriedly took out his phone and texted Shawn, _'Have you asked Hunter about Phil yet?'_

He sat back down on the bed with a sigh. He didn't know how much longer he could go on waiting for Phil to tell him what the matter was. His boyfriend could keep things from people forever if he really wanted to.


	5. Chapter 5

Phil and Chris barely talked that week. More often than not, Phil was with Kofi. And when he wasn't with Kofi, he was on the treadmill. The doctor had said that he should take it easy to make sure that he didn't make his condition worse, so the most that he would do each day was a thirty-minute power walk. Other times, he would use the bicycle for thirty minutes. He still couldn't run, so it was his best alternative. Life was almost back to normal… but it was far from it, honestly.

Now, after the show on Monday, Phil rolled off of the side of the apron and landed on his hands and knees on the concrete floor with a harsh _thud_. He bit down on the inside of his mouth and let out a low hiss. That had hurt. That had hurt like a bitch. He shook it off and hurriedly climbed to his feet. He tried to shake off the pain in his head as he rushed off toward the back. Another wave of dizziness hit him, followed by an extreme bout of nausea. Phil held his breath and stormed into the locker room.

Chris looked up from the couch to see his boyfriend enter, before the ravenette slammed the door closed behind him. "What's the matter, Phil? You look like you're sick."

Phil rolled his eyes. "Did you not see Paul knock me out out there, or does that not matter to you?" Phil unzipped his sweater and silently counted back from ten. "I have to take a shower. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Are you sure that you're okay? I'm worried about you." Chris tried, but he knew that he would be shot down.

"I'm fine." Phil bit out in a tone that showed that he clearly wasn't. "Just leave me alone. I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Okay. Whatever you want, sweetheart." Chris mumbled lowly.

The raven walked into the bathroom and shed the rest of his clothes. He looked down at his calves, which were covered from knee to ankle in little red scabs. He was thankful that his boots and knee pads were still able to cover all of the cuts, but he wasn't sure how much more he could hide. It had only been a week and still, he had obtained all of these. Maybe he _did_ need to talk to someone. Maybe he needed to talk to Chris…

But as soon as the idea came, he shook it off. He couldn't tell Chris. He couldn't tell anyone. The baby was his and he would mourn for it alone. It _was_ his fault that the baby was dead, after all. Well, he wasn't the only one at fault. Paul and John had a hand in it too. Everyone always asked him why he took it all out on John – why did Cena have to be the scapegoat? Phil had an easy answer to that. Do you _really_ want to piss of a seven foot tall, four hundred plus pound _Giant_? He certainly didn't.

Phil scrubbed all of the sweat, dirt, and blood off of his skin, before he turned off the water and climbed out of the shower. He dressed in the bathroom so that Chris wouldn't have to see the mess that he had made of his calves. After he had slid into a fresh pair of sweatpants and a loose, white t-shirt with his symbol on the front and 'Best in the World' on the back, he walked back into the locker room. Chris looked at him anxiously, a pill bottle in his hands.

"What are these, Phil?" Chris asked. His blue eyes flickered with worry as he shook the newly filled bottle of pills. "Is this the secret that you've been so desperate to hide from me? Some Vicodin?"

Phil frowned. He really didn't want to have to deal with this. "No, Chris. I'm not keeping any secrets from you. Those are for my back. You know that I've had problems with it ever since you had me in the Walls of Jericho on the steel grating."

"I'm sorry." Chris dropped the pills back into Phil's bag. "I'm just worried about you and you won't tell me anything…"

Phil looked him over once, before he shrugged his bag onto his shoulder. "Keep your hands off of my stuff." And then, he started out toward the car.

* * *

Chris had gone back to Shawn's hotel room out of desperation. Hunter had been out for the day, but Shawn promised he'd be back soon. Chris believed that, since Shawn was always one to tell it like it was.

He believed Phil when he said the pills were for his back. His baby was straight-edge; he would _never_ do drugs under any circumstance. But what else could be bothering him? Hopefully Hunter had some idea.

Shawn looked at him thoughtfully from where he sat cross-legged on his bed. He raised a mug of coffee up to his lips and took a generous sip. Chris let out another sigh.

"Hunter'll be back soon, Chris," Shawn promised for the umpteenth time. And, like clockwork, the beep of a keycard being slid into the door filled the otherwise quiet room.

"It has been such a long fucking day," Hunter's tired voice grumbled from the doorway. He turned to see Chris sitting forlornly at the small table in surprise. "Hey, Chris, what brings you here?"

"It's about my Philly," Chris replied. "I'm so worried about him. He's acting so strange and detached lately and I don't know why."

"Sounds like you've got a problem there," Hunter said. He searched the cupboard for another mug to have his evening coffee in. He quickly gave up. "Shawn, where are the mugs?"

"They're in the next cabinet over, sweetie," Shawn said lightly. Hunter finally found a mug. He grabbed the coffee pot and poured what was left into his cup before sitting across from Chris. He quietly took a sip.

"I know that I've got a problem here," Chris said exasperatedly. He took a deep breath before he continued speaking. "I was wondering if you knew what was bothering him. You've known him since your OVW days, after all."

"We're not exactly close, you know," Hunter said. He took his time with another mouthful of coffee, which only irritated Chris further. It seemed like Hunter was trying to piss him off, although his patience had been worn thin lately.

"Maybe you heard him talking to someone about what's bothering him?" Chris offered hopefully.

Hunter shook his head. "Sorry. I don't know what's wrong with him. I hope it doesn't get in the way of his championship reign."

Chris rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. "Thanks anyway, Hunter. I guess I'll have to just follow Shawn's advice."

"Good idea," Hunter said. He took his mug and joined his husband on their bed. "Is that all, Chris? It's been a long day and I want to relax."

"Yeah, sorry," Chris apologized quickly. He waved to Shawn before exiting their hotel room.

Chris shook his head angrily once he had left the room. Was Hunter _trying_ to piss him off? It seemed like he, too, was hiding something from him, with the way he was acting so casual and nonchalant about the situation. Chris groaned and got back in his rental car. He couldn't interrogate Hunter _or_ Phil further. He'd just have to wait for Phil to open up to him, whenever that might be.


	6. Chapter 6

Hunter Helmsley was not a man who lied for any reason. He was always blunt and realistic. It was the way that he had been raised. But Shawn could tell that there was more to this situation with Phil than he wanted to let on. Hunter had seemed oddly nonchalant about the entire issue when Chris was around, but once he walked out that door, that cold, uncomfortable skin fell off and Shawn could see that there was much, much more to this story.

It was true that Hunter had known Phil since his days at OVW. He had been one of the men that Vince had selected to scout out OVW and find the talent that could turn a profit for the WWE. Phil had been one of the potential candidates. However, Phil had some issues that needed to be addressed first. Hunter had been the one who had insisted on out-patient rehab for Phil if he wanted to be a WWE wrestler.

"Hunter, sweetie?" Shawn rolled over and looked at his husband. He watched as Hunter took a sip of his coffee. "Is there more to this story than you told Chris?"

Hunter was silent for a moment. He had sworn never to lie to Shawn, but he had also promised to keep Phil's secret. "No. I told him what I knew. Phil and I were never that close. You know that."

"Yeah. But you seemed to be a little… detached when you said what you did." Shawn said.

"If Chris is so worried about Phil, why doesn't he ask him himself?" Hunter asked nonchalantly.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Have you ever tried to get a straight answer out of Phil when he's not in the mood to give one? He put the truth in the vault and threw away the key, Hunter."

"I'm sorry I can't be of more help, then." Hunter said, before he finished off his coffee.

Shawn shook his head. No matter what Hunter insisted to be the truth, Shawn knew that there _had_ to be more to the story. Hunter and Chris may not be the best of friends, but if something was wrong with Shawn and Chris knew about it, Hunter knew that Chris would tell him. So what could be so horrible that the favor wasn't returned? It just didn't make sense. But Shawn didn't want to dwell on it. Hunter had said that he wanted to relax, after all.

"You ready for bed, Hunt?" Shawn asked, before he rolled over and hit the light on the bedside table. Gradually, darkness fell over the room.

"Are you kidding? I've been ready for bed since AJ decided that she wanted her GM office painted in pink and black pinstripes from now on. I have a _killer_ headache." Hunter moaned as he flopped down onto his pillow.

"What was it that possessed Vince to let AJ be the GM?" Shawn asked. Hunter never had explained that to him.

"He wanted AJ to have the chance to get back at Daniel Bryan without having to worry about a physical confrontation. She's done that and more. Although, I do believe that she's made _some_ decent decisions." Hunter said.

"Like what?" Shawn asked. He would admit that she made some nice matches, but her best snappy comeback in the face of adversity was a 'yes' chant.

"She made the Big Show vs. John Cena vs. Punk for the WWE Championship at SummerSlam." Hunter said.

"You do realize that there is a slim chance that he'll walk out of that match the champion, don't you? That title is all he has left." Shawn pointed out.

"He has Chris." Hunter countered.

Shawn sighed and nodded. "Yeah. He has Chris." But he couldn't help but ask himself, for how long?

* * *

Back at the hotel, Chris found his baby lying in bed, shirtless, with a comic book in front of his face. He tossed his keycard onto a nearby table and sat down next to Phil without a word.

"Phil…" Chris began slowly. Phil rested the book onto his bare chest and looked at him. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he clenched down hard.

"If you're going to ask what the matter is again, save your breath," Phil hissed. He narrowed his eyes angrily at Chris until he finally had to look away from Phil's harsh gaze.

"I guess I'd better save my breath," he muttered.

"Too late," Phil said bitterly. He closed his book and carefully set it on the bedside table before he rolled out of bed. "I'm going to take a shower."

Chris got up and blocked Phil between the end of the bed and the small entertainment set. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Phil's gently and subtly snaked his hands around the smaller man's waist. For a moment, Phil leaned into the kiss. The moment was far too short, though, and Phil suddenly started to push Chris off of him.

"Just let me take my damn shower," Phil huffed. He sounded out of breath.

"Can I join you?" Chris whispered huskily near Phil's neck. He continued to push Chris away until he managed to dart around him and stand in the doorway of the bathroom.

"I'd rather just take it alone. I just want some time to relax."

"You've been alone for days now, baby," Chris whined. He weaseled his way into the bathroom and shut the door behind them. Phil was backed into the corner.

"Come on, Chris, just let me take my shower," he echoed himself.

Chris closed the gap between them and grasped his face in his hands. He planted a few light kisses along Phil's jawline. He kept one of his hands on Phil's face while the other one went to the waistband of his sweatpants. He tugged downwards quickly, but only managed to pull them down to Phil's knees before he was suddenly pushed across the bathroom.

"What the fuck?" Chris exclaimed loudly. He held his shoulder, which had just been knocked against the wall, and rubbed it carefully. Phil yanked his pants back up roughly and shot Chris a death glare.

"Leave my fucking pants alone!" Phil yelled. He sank to the ground and tucked his legs towards his body protectively. "Get out of here, you bastard!"

Chris' eyes felt watery. "Fine. You want me gone? Your wish is my command, Phil. I'm out of here!"

With that, Chris stormed out of the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. He grabbed his unopened bags and slung them around his large frame. After he shoved his wallet and phone into his pockets, he was off to his rental to get away from there.

* * *

Phil remained where he sat when Chris left. Tears now fell down his face freely; partly from Chris leaving, and partly from the pain he felt on his legs. When he had pulled his pants back up, a few scabs had ripped off, and a few of his cuts were bleeding again. He pulled his pant legs up and stared at the mess in front of him. He was _disgusted_ with what he had done. However, the only way he knew how to cope now was to add to the menagerie of angry red welts decorating his skin.

He crawled over to his bathroom bag and opened it. Once his hand touched that familiar blade, he drew his hand out and looked at it with blurry, tear-filled vision. Without thinking twice, he found an untouched piece of skin on his leg and added another bloody wound to his massive collection.

"Not good enough," he whispered to himself maniacally. He repeated himself a few times until he caved and drew a short, deep line on his wrist before he dropped the blade onto the tile floor. Phil stared in slight horror at what he had done. He had promised himself he wouldn't cut on his wrists. That was way too noticeable! He hurriedly wiped away the blood oozing from the wound with his thumb and licked it clean. He fumbled around the cabinets until he found a small towel, which he pressed against his wrist. He pulled down his pant legs and slowly got to his feet and returned to the bed. His phone made a few beeping noises from where he left it on the bed.

The first was from Chris. _Left my Lite-Brite jacket there – can you grab it before you leave the hotel?_

The second was from Kofi. _Hey man, how are you doing?_

And the third was from Hunter. _What's wrong with you, man? I thought you said you were all better._


	7. Chapter 7

Chris couldn't believe it. He wandered down the street aimlessly, more lost and confused than he had been before. He should've listened to Shawn and taken his advice. He shouldn't have forced himself onto Phil. Out of all the little spats that they had had before, Phil had never kicked him out of their hotel room. Never. Whatever it was that was on Phil's mind, it must have him even more hurt and frustrated on the inside.

Chris wasn't sure what to do. Shawn had assured him that Hunter would know what had caused this distance between him and Phil, but Hunter hadn't been any help at all. In fact, it almost seemed as if Hunter _wanted_ to annoy him. And it wasn't like he could walk over to Phil and ask him what the matter was, because Phil had locked up the truth and thrown away the key.

But now, Chris couldn't focus on Phil. He had to film SmackDown tonight. It was the return of the Highlight Reel and his newest annoyance, Dolph Ziggler, was supposed to be the guest (accompanied by none other than Vickie Guerrero). Chris didn't know Dolph all that well, but he knew that they were both somewhat alike. Both of them were opportunists. So he wouldn't allow Dolph to have the chance to attack him from behind.

He almost jumped out of his skin when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and saw Kofi with his Lite-Brite jacket in hand. "What is it, Kofi?"

"Phil told me to give this to you. He told me that you left it back at his hotel room." Kofi said. "Of course, that's when I asked when it was 'his' hotel room. And _that_ is when he told me that you were an ass and he kicked you out."

"Oh, so now caring about someone that you love is considered being an ass? Good to know." Chris said sarcastically.

"Look, whatever happened between the two of you, it's none of my business. But I do know that if you hurt him, I will hurt you. Got that?" Kofi hissed.

Chris had no doubt that the energetic man could break him in half if he really wanted to, but there was a slim chance that he _would_ want to. "Is that a threat?" Chris asked. He couldn't help it. He was a smartass.

Kofi smiled. It made Chris more than a little uneasy. "No, Chris. It's a promise."

Kofi shoved the Lite-Brite jacket into Chris' chest, before he stalked off in the direction that he had come from. Chris looked the jacket over once, before he shrugged and tossed it over his shoulder. The accessory seemed to be a little bit heavier today, or maybe that was Chris' heart. He didn't know for sure. What he _did_ know was that he had to find out what was the matter with his baby before it entered their working relationship and Vince kicked _both_ their asses.

Chris arrived at the arena a few minutes later and entered his private locker room, before he changed into some jeans and took his shirt off. He tossed all of his clothes into his gym bag and put the Lite-Brite jacket on. It even smelled like Phil, even if it was only the smallest hint. It still reminded him of how wonderful life used to be before something changed. If only Chris knew what…

There was a knock on the door. "Jericho, the Highlight Reel is on in five minutes. Head out to the guerilla."

Chris nodded and smiled in thanks. "Okay. I'll be out in a second!"

Before Chris went out to the ring, he looked down at the picture that he had taken with Phil on their first anniversary. It was one of the rare pictures where Phil actually smiled when the picture was taken. Phil had a few streaks of blond in his hair and Chris was a few years younger, but they were happy and in love. That was all that mattered. Chris wished that they had stayed like that. Forever young, forever in love…

* * *

Pain still radiated throughout Chris' body even after icing his injuries and wrapping himself in an oversized heating pad. He had just taken some Tylenol for the pain as well. That little bastard! How dare Dolph sneak up on him and hit him ruthlessly with his damn briefcase?

A shiver of pain went down Chris' spine. He pulled the heating pad around his back tighter and tried to get comfortable in his hotel room bed. Key word: _tried_. Chris couldn't get comfortable in a hotel bed anymore without Phil by his side. And since Phil had kicked him out of _"his"_ hotel room, he had had to book his own.

Chris rolled onto his side. In front of him on the bed sat his phone, the one-year anniversary photo with Phil, and a few 8x10 shots of his baby that he had snagged at different events.

The signature iPhone ringtone cut through Chris' whirlwind of thoughts. He had an incoming call from Shawn.

_"Hey, Chris, how are you hanging in?"_ Shawn's comforting voice sounded from the other line.

Chris sighed. "Not well. He kicked me out of our hotel room earlier, so now I'm all alone."

_"Why'd he do that?" _

"I-I kind of asked him what was wrong again," Chris confessed. "He brushed me off and I followed him into the bathroom. I was kissing him and one thing led to another where I was pulling down his pants. He pushed me across the room and yanked his pants back up before he started screaming at me. I left, and he had Kofi bring me my jacket that I left behind along with a message of me being an ass, so therefore he kicked me out. I feel so goddamn alone."

Shawn let out a long sigh. _"After you left, I asked Hunter if he knew anything. He told me no, but I think he's hiding something from me. I know that he never lies, but something just doesn't seem quite right."_

"Well, thank you for trying to help me, Shawn," Chris wholeheartedly thanked him. "We didn't really fall in love with the most open men on the planet."

Shawn chuckled. _"You're right on that one. Do you want me to come over so you have some company?"_

"Nah, I'm alright," Chris insisted. "But thanks anyway. I appreciate it."

_"Any time,"_ Shawn said. _"I'll talk to you later. Hang in there! Punk has to open up eventually. Just give him some space to breathe for now."_

"I'll do that," Chris said. "Talk to you later."

Chris hung up the phone feeling a little bit better about the situation. Still, that didn't squelch the sadness in his heart about the entire situation. He wished he could be a superhero with the superpower to read minds. Then he could be Phil's superhero and fix whatever was wrong with him. Plus, he'd get to wear a really cool costume.

* * *

"You are so precious," Phil whispered to the object in front of him. He ran his fingers lightly over its surface. "You're all mine, mine, mine. And nobody else will ever have you. Ever."

The gold of the WWE Championship belt glistened in the lighting of Phil's hotel room. He gave the spinner a gentle flick and watched it turn in circles. This was all he had now. He lost his baby and he pushed Chris out of his life. He'd fight for and defend this title with everything in him. Neither Cena nor Big Show stood a chance against him at SummerSlam. He would successfully retain his title, again, and continue proving to the world how great he was.

Phil chuckled madly and continued to spin the "W" on the front of the belt. "Mine, mine, mine…"


	8. Chapter 8

Shawn hung up his call with Chris and shot his husband an angry glance. Hunter returned with an innocent look.

"I was just on the phone with Chris," Shawn informed the larger blond.

"I know. I heard," Hunter snapped lightly.

Shawn sighed inwardly and joined Hunter on the bed. He dropped the magazine he was reading and gave Shawn his full attention.

"You know something," Shawn announced bluntly. Even through his narrowed eyes, he saw a flash of worry cross Hunter's eyes. "I thought you and I never kept anything from each other. Why is it any different now?"

"Because there's nothing to hide!" Hunter shot back loudly. "Why don't you give it a rest, huh? Dammit, Shawn, it's not like you to be like this."

"Be like what?" Shawn questioned. "I can feel that you're hiding something from me, Hunter! We've been together for so long that I know what's on your mind. And right now, I know that you're not telling me the entire truth."

Hunter ran his hands over his face slowly. "Alright, well, maybe I know something…"

Shawn shoved his hands onto Hunter's chest and pushed the both of them against the mattress roughly. "I knew it! Tell me what you know _now_ and I might let you have sex with me in the near future."

Hunter swallowed nervously. "I-I… Well, back when I was talent scouting for OVW, I met Phil and saw he had serious potential. I was willing to sign him to the WWE if…"

"If what?!" Shawn yelled in Hunter's face. He gripped his shirt in his hands and pushed him further into the bed. "Tell me, Hunter, right now!"

"If he went to out-patient rehab!" Hunter screamed back. Shawn loosened his grip on Hunter's shirt and sat back on Hunter's hips some.

"Rehab?" Shawn asked, incredulous. "Phil's straight-edge, though. Why would he need rehab?"

"You don't need to drink or do drugs to go to rehab, Shawn," Hunter sighed slowly.

"Well, why did he need rehab, then?"

"He had a different problem," Hunter revealed slowly. "I went to meet up with him after a show and found him taking off his boots. He was startled as hell and he desperately tried to cover up his legs so I couldn't see, but I saw. Shawn, Phil had a problem with cutting himself. And I think he's started again."

"What?" Shawn whispered in disbelief. "Phil's problem is he's cutting himself? Why wouldn't he want Chris knowing that? Chris could help him get better."

"Something bad must have happened to trigger the cutting again, baby," Hunter stated. "The rehab helped him tremendously. He's fought off self-harming for so many years, and when he did fall for it, he would just get a tattoo to cope. If something did trigger him, he's probably in a really bad state right now, and even with this knowledge, I don't think anyone will be able to get through to him."

Shawn ran a hand through his hair while he thought of something he could do. He couldn't think of anything.

"I need to tell Chris so he doesn't go insane worrying about Phil," Shawn finally said. Hunter grabbed onto his wrists tightly and pulled him down towards his face.

"It won't do any good," Hunter pleaded with Shawn not to tell Chris. "Don't tell Chris, baby, please. Phil would kill me."

"I'd rather he be pissed off at you than killing himself," Shawn whispered. Fear leaked into his voice as he fumbled around for his phone. Chris picked up after the second ring.

_"Hey, Shawn, I didn't think 'later' would be twenty minutes,"_ Chris chuckled tiredly.

"Chris, I managed to get Hunter to speak," Shawn said with a shaky voice.

_"You did?! What's wrong with my baby?"_ Chris asked with hope.

"Hunter said that back when he was talent scouting for OVW, he offered Phil a deal with WWE so long as he entered an out-patient rehab program," Shawn began slowly.

_"If you're trying to tell me that my baby is doing drugs, Shawn, you can go fuck yourself,"_ Chris hissed angrily. _"I know he's not acting like himself, but he's _not _on drugs."_

"Chris, just listen for a minute, okay?" Shawn said loudly to silence the tawny blond. "That's what I thought at first, too! But then Hunter went on to say that Phil needed rehab for something different. Phil had a problem with cutting himself, and Hunter thinks that Phil's doing it again."

Chris was silent for a few moments. _"Cutting himself?"_ he echoed in disbelief. _"Are you sure?"_

"Yes, I'm sure," Shawn sighed. "Hunter said that something bad must have happened to trigger the cutting again. He said that if something triggered him, he's probably in a bad state right now. And he doesn't know if anything will be able to help him now."

_"Thank you for getting this information for me, Shawn,"_ Chris thanked him quietly. _"Oh, and punch Hunter in the balls for me for keeping this to himself for so long, alright? I gotta go now. My baby needs me."_

Shawn let Chris end the call before he dropped his phone somewhere.

"What'd he say?" Hunter asked curiously.

Shawn coiled his hand into a fist and punched Hunter in the groin. He doubled over in pain and coughed out a few times. When he was finally able to speak again, he said angrily, "What in the fuck was that for?!"

"That was from Chris," Shawn said. "He said that was for keeping the information to yourself for so long."

* * *

It wasn't hard to charm the lady at the front desk into handing over the extra keycard to Phil's hotel room. Chris slid it, frantic to be with his baby at last. Once he was granted entrance, he was immediately met with a heartbreaking sight. Phil sat on the bed with his knees drawn into his chest. He had a knife in one trembling hand, the silver blade dripping with fresh blood...

"Phil." Chris whispered, at a loss for words.


	9. Chapter 9

"Phil?" Chris asked, a little bit louder this time. He hadn't meant to scare the raven, but he did. Phil flinched and sliced a two-inch cut across his knee. Almost immediately, it started to bleed heavily.

"Why the hell are you here? Didn't I tell you to leave?" Phil snapped back. He didn't even seem concerned about the fact that he had just cut his knee down to the bone.

"There's blood _everywhere_ Phil! What the hell were you thinking? You could have killed yourself!" Chris exclaimed. At once, he was at Phil's side and trying to find something to put on the wound.

Phil saved him the trouble. He cleaned off the blade and slid his pants down so that the wounds weren't visible. "There are worse things."

"Do you really want to leave me that badly?" Chris asked as tears bubbled to his eyes.

Phil rolled his eyes and climbed off of the bed, a little shaky from the pain in his knee. "Contrary to what you seem to believe, the entire world doesn't revolve around Chris Irvine."

"Then tell me what caused this. Tell me _who_ caused this." Chris insisted. The worry he felt leaked into his tone.

Phil narrowed his eyes at him. "It's none of your fucking business, Chris. Leave it alone."

"It _is_ my business because _you're _my business. You're my life, Phil, whether you like it or not. I just want to be there for you when you need me." Chris said softly. The pain in his eyes told the entire story.

"Well, you're a little late for that, aren't you?" Phil hissed at him. This wasn't the same Phil that he had fallen in love with. This was a shell of a man. "I want you to leave. Now."

"Phil, if you won't accept my help, then I have to report it to Mr. McMahon. You know that he'll be forced to strip you of that title and send you to in-patient rehab." Chris told him.

Phil's eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare. This title is all I have left. How _dare_ you threaten to take it from me!"

"I'd have no other choice, Phil." Chris stated sadly. "It's either you or the belt, and I will always pick you."

Phil was silent for a few minutes. Chris could almost see the wheels slowly turn in Phil's head. _It's either you or the title belt. It's either you or the title belt._ And then, a dull, hazy quality settled over Phil's eyes. He walked over to Chris and tossed the belt over his shoulder. Now that the men were eye-to-eye, Chris could see that Phil's insomnia had kicked into overdrive lately. It was like his obsession with the WWE title had left him unable to think of anything else.

With his one hand, he raised the WWE title in the air. _It was all that he had left._ Slowly, he mouthed 'Best in the World'. It was a cold slap in the face to remind Chris of their feud and all of the horrible shit that the tawny blond had pulled on the Straight-Edge Savior. But little could have prepared him for what happened next. Phil drew his hand back and slapped Chris on the face, _hard_. Chris stumbled back a few steps, hurt and confused.

"Unlike you, Chris, I'll _always_ pick the belt over you."

* * *

Chris found himself at a bar nearly an hour later with tears _still_ pouring down his face and another shot glass of tequila polished off in front of him. Phil had declared them over once he chose the belt over him. And that hurt so much worse than the slap in the face he received.

He didn't want to have to follow through on his threat. He knew that he would have to, but he didn't want to. Phil didn't deserve to have his title taken from him, not after he had worked so hard to make it this far. But he couldn't have Phil continue to hurt himself, or worse...

No. He couldn't think about that. Phil may be having issues, but he would never take his own life. The Straight-Edge Savior had such a zest for life, even if he had a somewhat cynical outlook on it. Phil would never kill himself.

He ordered another shot of liquor. Once the glass was set in front of him, he hastily pounded it back and let the glass sit with the others gathered around him. Suddenly, he felt someone hug him from behind. He drunkenly turned around to find Shawn behind him.

"How did you know I was here?" Chris slurred. Shawn looked at him, confused.

"You called me like, twenty minutes ago," Shawn explained slowly. Chris allowed Shawn to lead him off of his barstool and towards the back of the bar to a booth. Chris collapsed onto the booth and let his sobs rip through him. He vaguely felt Shawn sit next to him and rub a hand along his back until he finally managed to stop crying.

"What happened?" Shawn asked quietly. Chris felt tears bubble in his eyes again. Now that the alcohol had slowly started to leave his system, he no longer felt numb to reality. "C'mon, Chris. You can tell me."

"He picked the belt," Chris' voice was hoarse when he answered Shawn. "He picked the belt over me. We-we're o-over."

* * *

The belt felt heavy on his waist, but Phil didn't care. He looked at himself in a floor-length mirror and smiled at his reflection. He had stripped all of his clothes off and now only wore the belt. He rubbed it slowly.

"See? I told you that _nobody_ would ever take you away from me," he chuckled darkly. "Now that snot-faced Irvine is out of the way, I can give you my full, undivided attention."

The wound on his knee still bled pretty heavily. He felt really woozy, although decided to ignore it. He had cut himself deep before. It would stop bleeding eventually.


	10. Chapter 10

Chris was an absolute mess. It had been twenty-four hours since Phil had kicked him out of his life and Chris had never felt more alone. The tawny blond was afraid for his ex-boyfriend. Would he continue to hurt himself? And what had caused him to start to cut himself? Chris didn't know. He feared that he never would. Phil could maintain his silent forever if he really wanted to. That was the sad truth.

Now, well, he had a choice. He could fulfill his threat and tell Mr. McMahon that Phil was mentally unstable. Vince would strip him of his title, send him to rehab, and if Phil refused to do so, could even suspend him or worse, fire him. No matter how much it hurt Chris, he couldn't do that to Phil. He knew that Phil needed help, but not at that cost. There had to be an easier way. But what could he do?

It was still on his mind as he waited for the Raw Active results to decide who would be in Piper's Pit. He was shocked when he had been chosen. Plastering on his best smile and making sure that the tear tracts were dry on his face, he made his way out there. Roddy was kind, as usual. His first few comments had a bit of a bite, but Chris was used to that. It wasn't until The Miz and Dolph came out that the interview was ruined.

The Awesome One and The Show-Off demanded a match because they hadn't been selected by the WWE Universe to be interviewed in Piper's Pit. And when Vickie interfered in the match, Dolph capitalized and stole the win from him. Chris winced as he walked down the halls, wondering if he really had lost his touch. Wouldn't that be ironic? He lost his boyfriend _and_ his career… all in the course of twenty-four hours.

"Chris!" Dolph ran over to him, that characteristic sarcastic smirk on his face. "I've been looking for you all over, man! I just heard that you and Phil broke it off. That's a shame."

"What do you care, Dolph? And why is it any of your business, anyway?" Chris asked, exasperated. He didn't want to think about the fact that Phil had broken off their relationship. It hurt.

"I just always thought that Phil deserved better, someone younger." Dolph said nastily. "Someone like me. You see, unlike you, I can keep a man satisfied."

Chris looked him over, unimpressed. "I'm sure that that's what you think."

"Why don't we let _Phil_ decide who he wants? Oh, wait. He already did. And it isn't you." Dolph said matter-of-factly. He had a note of smugness in his tone.

Chris smiled darkly. "You better watch the way that you talk to me, kid. I'm not in the best of moods."

"Oh. You're gonna hurt me?" Dolph feigned a scared look. "I'd like to see you try."

Chris slammed his fist into the wall above Dolph's head. "Shut the hell up! I don't want to hear you bitch about how much of a better boyfriend you'll make for Phil, okay? I'm really not in the mood."

But Dolph only smirked. "You won't have to hear about it, Chrissy. Soon, you'll be able to _see_ it." And with that said, the platinum blond snaked out from under Chris' arm and stalked off.

* * *

Truth be told, Dolph didn't know what he was walking in to. How could anybody, when Phil hid his problems from the entire world? Except for Chris, who had somehow found out about his self-harming.

When the bleach-blond threw the door open and walked inside with cockiness wafting off of him, Phil didn't even try to hide what he had been doing. Who cared, anyway?

"Phil…" Dolph began, speechless.

Phil looked down at himself and noted the old and new scars decorating his legs. It must be pretty startling to someone who hadn't seen them before. Oh, and the knife he wielded in his hand? That probably didn't help the situation much.

"What are you staring at?" he snapped angrily. He went back to scraping off old scabs and irritating new wounds with the knife. "You act like you just walked in on a murder scene."

Dolph's eyes widened at the sick sense of irony before he dropped to his knees and tried to stop the first bleeding cut he saw. Phil quickly elbowed him in the chest and kicked him away.

"Get the fuck away from me!" he said loudly. "I only care about one thing and one thing only now, and that's my belt. I don't need love from anyone, or anything, else."

"God, no wonder Chris gave up with you," Dolph sneered. "He must really hate you for pushing him away. He probably doesn't care that you're trying to kill yourself."

"I'm not trying to kill myself," Phil muttered angrily. To prove his point, he set the knife beside his belt. "How can I be champion if I kill myself?"

The blond chuckled bitterly. "I don't believe you for one second that you only care about that damn belt. You were fine for so long and then suddenly you're this self-centered freak who's cutting himself to the point that it's starting to peak out of your knee pads. Seriously, man, why would you push Chris away when you're like… _this?!_ You sure as hell won't find another man to love you now that you're damaged goods."

"Shut the fuck _up_!" Phil now screamed. He drew the knife into his hand and pointed it threateningly at Dolph's chest. A look of genuine fear flashed across Dolph's eyes. "_Don't_ call me damaged goods and _don't_ poke your nose into my business. You don't know shit!"

"O-okay," the blond squeaked, terrified. He scurried backwards until he was in the doorway. "You're insane, Phil. I ought to tell Vince what just-"

Dolph ran away screaming once Phil hurled the knife in his direction. It impaled the wall behind where he was seconds earlier. Once he was sure it was safe, he poked his head back in.

"Now I'm _definitely _telling Vince what just happened, _damaged goods_."

Phil's heart felt heavy in his chest. He tried to swallow around the lump in his throat to no avail. He grabbed his belt and held it to his chest protectively.

"I won't let Dolph tell Vince what happened," he whispered to the championship quietly. "I'll do _whatever_ it takes to keep you around my waist, even if I have to get rid of Mr. Ziggles so he can't tell on me. Nobody is taking you away from Daddy, I promise."

Phil pulled on a pair of pants and gave his precious belt a final kiss before he tucked it away safely in his suitcase. Then, he was off.


	11. Chapter 11

Phil ran over to Dolph, who looked like he was about to have a talk with the new Raw GM, AJ Lee. With his best smile on his face, he patted Dolph on the shoulder and waited. When the blond turned around, Phil thought that he would have had a heart attack. Phil took him by the wrist and led him over to a more secluded area of the arena, where they wouldn't be interrupted.

"You know, Dolph, about what happened back there in my locker room… you don't really _have_ to tell Vince, do you?" Phil asked him sweetly. "I can make it worth your while if you keep that oversized mouth shut."

"Do you really think that it will help you to insult me right now, Punk? And, in case you haven't realized it yet, interrupting someone in the middle of their conversation is rude." Dolph spat viciously.

"This is a one-time-only offer, Dolph. My body for your silence. What do you think?" Phil didn't even bat an eyelash at the idea of whoring himself out to the Show Off.

Dolph blinked, obviously impressed. "Wow, Phil. I never would've pictured you as a slutty, desperate whore."

"No. Not desperate. In case you didn't remember, you wanted me." Phil said. "I don't need anyone but my baby."

Dolph looked at him oddly. Since when was the title 'his baby'? "You'd really whore yourself out just so that I wouldn't tell Vince that your cutting your body into mince meat?"

Phil didn't even look fazed at the left-handed comment. "Do we have a deal or not, Dolph? I don't have all day."

"Fine." A sinister smirk came over Dolph's face. Maybe a mentally unstable WWE Champion could work in his favor after all. "I'll maintain my silence and you'll be my personal bitch."

Now, contrary to what many believed, Dolph _did_ use his brain… sometimes. He knew that Phil was more than a little mentally unstable, but that came with the territory. Maybe this was Phil's way of staking his claim in the WWE Universe. But he wasn't blind and he certainly wasn't naïve. This false sense of security that he had created for Phil would allow him to see just how deep the scars ran. If he couldn't help him, then he would find someone who could.

* * *

Well, that Show Off had really done it. He had taken Phil as his own and wasted no time in flaunting the fact to the entire locker room. Anger and sadness boiled inside of Chris, but what could he do about the matter? As much as it hurt to admit, he and Phil were over, and his baby had already moved on to Dolph. But something seemed a little off about the situation; Phil seemed to keep his eyes on that damn belt whenever the two were together, rather than on the Showoff himself.

Chris hadn't been watching where he was walking and found himself collide right into Kofi. The high-flyer glared at him angrily.

"Remember what I told you a little while back?" Kofi said angrily. "Look at what you've done to him! I have every good intention to beat the piss out of you right now…"

"I didn't do shit to him," Chris said boldly. "If anything, he's at fault here. He stopped talking to me, dumped me, and kicked me out of his life. You don't think I tried to make things better?"

Kofi's anger melted away and concern took its place. "What's making him act all… weird? It must be something big if he's with Dolph…"

"Yeah, no shit," Chris mumbled, upset. "I don't know what to do anymore. All he cares about is that belt."

"I find that a little hard to believe," Kofi said slowly. Chris narrowed his eyes at one-half of the tag team champions.

"Just listen to him for five minutes and you'll know what I'm talking about."

As if on cue, Dolph circled the two of them by Chris again. Phil stared at his belt and murmured to it lovingly. Dolph gave the two of them a cocky glance before he led Phil off somewhere. Chris looked at Kofi, who looked somewhat stunned.

"That's not Phil," Kofi finally said. "I don't even know _who_ that is. And, quite frankly, I don't like him."

"Do you think Blondie knows anything?" Chris wondered aloud. "I know Phil's not exactly Phil, but there's no way in hell he'd ever be associated with the little douche."

"He could know something," Kofi said. "Why don't we try to find out?"

"Alright," Chris sighed finally. "At this point, nothing can hurt to at least try."

* * *

Phil stared down at his WWE title, his baby. "I told you that I wouldn't let anyone take you away from Daddy. You're mine and I won't lose you. Not to John. Not to Big Show. And certainly not to Vince McMahon."

In order to fulfill his end of the promise, Phil had booked a hotel room for himself and Dolph. At first, he had been a little startled at the fact that it had been so easy to make Dolph forget the fact that he had threatened him with a knife, but then, Dolph was a lot like a sex-crazed, horomonal teenager. At the very mention of Phil's ass, the man had practically swooned.

Phil sat on the floor in the bathroom, the knife in his hand. However, he had no inclination to harm himself. He was confused by this, but simply shrugged his shoulders. It didn't really matter either way. He was still the WWE Champion, he had still won his match on Raw... but John Cena had disrespected him, hadn't he? Well, Phil would have to remedy that.

"Phil!" Dolph knocked on the door to the bathroom. Phil rolled his eyes and tucked the knife away. He didn't want the blond to have another spazz attack. "C'mon, it's time for bed."

Who did the blond think he was, his mother? Nevertheless, Phil rose to his feet and walked out of the bathroom before Dolph could knock again. "Yeah, here I come."


	12. Chapter 12

Chris decided that he would have to have a talk with Dolph. Since Dolph was so sure that he was the better man for Phil, then he would have to know what had caused Phil so much distress. Or, at least, that was what would make sense to Chris. But then, when he looked back on it, little about the Showoff actually made sense. Like, for example, why the little bastard decided to attack him on his way out to his match on SmackDown.

He hit him several times, before he ran a cart into him and pinned him to the wall. Chris felt like he was about to be sick, but Dolph didn't stop until Booker T came between them and forcibly broke them apart. It was only when the cameras went off of them that Dolph came back and sneered down at Jericho. That look of superiority was on his face, but there was another look there as well. One that Chris couldn't identify.

"Phil is mine. I told you that the better man would win him over." Dolph whispered to him, but the arrogance was still there. "You better keep your slimy little hands off of him."

Chris narrowed his eyes at him. "You didn't win shit, Dolph. Phil was a wreck and it was all too easy to win him over. I don't consider that very much of a win."

Dolph rolled his eyes. "This coming from the man who hasn't won a pay-per-view match since he returned to the WWE? I don't want to hear it."

"My unfortunate losing streak has nothing to do with Phil and you know it." Chris frowned.

Dolph smirked down at him, amused. "Fine. I'll make you a deal." Chris raised one blond eyebrow. "If you beat me at SummerSlam by some stroke of madness, you can have Phil back."

"You're really that confident in your abilities?" Chris asked, stunned into silence.

Dolph nodded. "I _know_ that I will win. So, do we have a deal?"

Chris was silent for a moment as he thought it over. Dolph may be overly confident, but he still had a _little_ bit of talent. "Fine. You have yourself a deal."

* * *

Dolph had attacked him during his match with Del Rio, too, which cost him the match. Chris figured Dolph was trying to tell him that he'd win against him at SummerSlam. His arrogance was really impeding with his ability to see the truth, which was that Chris would beat his ass at the pay-per-view.

Chris hunted the blond little fuck down after the show and pushed him against a wall angrily. Dolph, momentarily stunned, did nothing but allow Chris to continue pushing him harder against the wall.

"What was the meaning of that?" Chris snapped. "You cost me my match! Y'know what, though? That's not what I originally confronted you for. You've gotta know why Phil's not himself, right? Since you're obviously the better man for Phil and all…"

"Why would I tell you anything, especially after you just slammed me against this wall?"

"You've just got to," Chris said, exasperated. "Even if he's with you, he's still my entire world. I need to know he's okay."

"I'll tell you how he's doing if you win the match at SummerSlam. So, really, you're gonna have to get used to not knowing what's wrong with him, because you're not going to win."

Somewhat shocked by his boldness, he let down his guard long enough for Dolph to send him careening into the opposite wall roughly. He hit his head against the wall hard and fell to the floor, dazed. Dolph suddenly stood above him. He slapped his face and spit, "Stay away from my man, you little bitch! Phil's made it clear that he doesn't want you. He wants me."

"He doesn't want you, you little fuck," Chris hissed. He kicked Dolph's knee with incredible force, which made him fall to his ass in front of him. "All he cares about is that goddamned belt, for some fucking reason. All he wants is to be a daddy to it. He's lost his mind!"

"If he wants to be a daddy, then I'd be more than happy to help him with that," Dolph spat. "I know you'd never let him be a father. You don't care enough about Phil to let him be a daddy."

Chris felt tears prickle at his eyes. He grabbed Dolph's shirt in his hands and pushed him into the ground. He got into his face and screamed, "I would give Phil the entire world! If he wanted to be a father, I'd fuck him so hard and deep that it'd be done right then and there. I would be right by him and help him through his pregnancy and raise that kid with him every step of the way. You don't care about him. You just care about pissing me off and seeing me miserable. I care about him. I _love_ him, Dolph. That's the difference between you and me. I would give my life for him in a heartbeat. You, on the other hand, would just push him into the line of fire. You only care about yourself. You don't know what it is to love someone. I wish I could give Phil a child right now. If that's what he wanted, then all he'd have to do is tell me and I'd give it to him. I'd do it in a fucking heartbeat."

Chris hit Dolph's body into the ground a few times before he got up and ran off. He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he needed to get away from Dolph, Phil, and everyone backstage. He could barely make it out of the arena with his tears blinding his vision, but somehow he managed.

* * *

Back in his empty hotel room, Chris did nothing but lay in bed with the company of a few bottles of hard liquor by his side and hot tears falling down his face. He didn't know if he could handle this any longer. Phil was the reason he woke up every day. He was the reason he took each breath and each step and willed his heart to continue beating. He felt completely numb, and only partly from the alcohol. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn't live without his baby boy. Clearly, there was only one option now…


	13. Chapter 13

**Warning(s):** Dub-Con, Rape

* * *

Chris was still in shock. He had won. He had _won_, damn it! That mean that all the hell that he had endured, all of the shit that Dolph had forced him to undertake… it was all worthwhile, because he had won his match at SummerSlam and had won his Philly back. The shock melted away into a self-satisfied smile. He was on Cloud Nine. Nobody was about to take this rush away from him. For the first time since Phil left him, he felt complete.

He was unprepared for a harsh hit to the back of his shoulder. Chris stumbled forward and fell awkwardly. He took a bad hit to his already injured ribs. When he rolled onto his back, his face scrunched with pain, he came face-to-face with Dolph. The same man that he had beaten in the match earlier. He had a killer smile on his face as he loomed over Chris' body. Chris didn't like that look at all.

And then, all of a sudden, that smile fell and Dolph leaned down, took Chris by the hair, yanked him back to his feet and slammed his head into the nearest wall. Chris winced in pain. Dolph was known to be a sore loser, but wasn't this a bit overdramatic? Dolph leaned forward until their foreheads touched and he scowled in Jericho's face. Truly, that had to be a look only a mother could love…

"You think that you've won, you little bitch? You think that you've actually beaten me?" Dolph sneered at him. Chris swallowed hard but didn't answer. "What? You don't have some stupid comeback? Afraid to tell me to shut up?"

Chris frowned. That comment had rubbed him the wrong way. "First of all, why would I be afraid of you? You're nothing more than a little boy with a mother that strokes his ego to outrageous proportions."

Dolph slapped him across the face. "Don't _ever_ talk about Vickie like that! Do you understand me?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "Would you rather I talked about our _actual_ match? I beat you. You tapped out. There's no way to deny it, so why are you trying to?"

"Shut the hell up!" Dolph took a page out of Chris' book. "I don't want to hear you bitch. And you're a fool if you think that you've actually won the one thing that you care about."

Chris' blue eyes widened. "What?"

Dolph took a few steps back and eyed Chris with a proud smile. He had broken Chris' confidence. This was not an easily mastered feat. Chris looked like he was about to come apart at the seams, he needed to hear those words so badly. Dolph shook his head. It was _pathetic_. He reached forward and slapped Chris hard across the cheek. It didn't take that cold, detached look out of his eyes, however.

"Phil told me about what a horrible boyfriend you were to him. He even told me that you hit him once." Chris' eyes widened. He would _never_… "But what makes it even better? He told me you're lousy in bed."

Chris would _never_ lay a hand on Phil if he didn't want him to, and he _had_ never hit Phil before. And that lousy in bed comment? Well, that just bit him to the core. So all of the times that they had made love, all of the quick fucks in the bathroom after a match… they meant nothing to Phil. Chris slid down the wall, unable to believe what he had just heard. And Dolph stalked away, his imaginary match won.

* * *

Phil lazily lay in bed that night with his belt sitting on his chest. He was oblivious to everything around him; that is, until the sound of the hotel door slamming shut filled his ears. He jumped in surprise and held his baby close. Dolph's face was _red_. It was redder than Phil had ever seen it before.

"What's wrong?" Phil feigned concern.

The blond's breath came out in short and angry grunts. He tugged at his hair and paced momentarily.

"Your little fucking bastard of an ex is the problem," Dolph finally seethed. "He managed to win our match tonight. I swear, I could kill him right now…"

Phil stopped listening. He had learned it was better to let Dolph blow off steam than have him bottle it inside. He became a very volatile person if he kept his anger in.

Suddenly, Dolph had Phil's shirt twisted in his hands. He pushed him into the bed and continued applying pressure on his chest. Phil clawed at the air and gasped for breath.

"Weren't you even fucking listening to me?!" Dolph screamed in his face. Phil shrunk backwards instinctively; bad mistake. This added to the extreme pressure weighing on his chest. Dolph drew his hand back and whaled it at Phil's face. Pain coursed through his body as he felt the welt start to blossom. Dolph pinned his hips down into the bed and moved his hands off of Phil's chest. He coughed and sputtered for air. Fear raced through him once he saw the demented glint in Dolph's eyes.

"Because I lost my match, you're gonna pay for it," he hissed. He drew back his hand again, but this time clenched his hand into a fist, and cracked Phil's jaw with it. He did this with his other hand and started a brutal assault on Phil's head. Phil felt woozy and nauseous from all the pain. Dolph relented his attack on the raven's head long enough to whip out a pair of handcuffs, which he snapped into place behind Phil's back. In one fluid motion, Phil's pants and underwear were stripped from his body and Dolph had seated himself inside of him fully. The dry friction tore at his insides and tears welled at the corners of his eyes. After a few rough thrusts from the blond, however, wetness coated his channel. Had the Show Off really made him bleed?!

"S-stop," Phil mewled in agony. Dolph struck his face once more before he grabbed onto his hips roughly and continued his assault on him.

Thirty minutes in and Dolph still hadn't cum. The pain in Phil's ass was unbelievable, and it only got worse the longer it took Dolph to get off. And the longer it took, the more pissed off Dolph became.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he screamed once. "Why aren't you making me cum? You always manage to do so, so why not now, you little _slut?_ Huh?"

"I-I-I'm s-sorry," Phil sobbed loudly. "Please let me suck you off. I promise I'll get you off if you let me. Please."

Dolph pulled out of him and wiped his erection on the hotel sheets. He shoved Phil against the headboard before he shoved his organ deep down Phil's throat at once. He gagged and coughed around Dolph's length, but eventually adjusted enough to fulfill the task at hand. Within moments, he felt Dolph's seed spill down his raw throat and into his stomach. He pulled out of Phil's mouth roughly and cracked his head against the headboard once more before leaving him lying on the bed pathetically. He left him naked, bruised, abused, and sobbing on their bed while he left the hotel room as quickly as he had come in.

Not long after being left alone in the room, Phil passed out from the pain and the blood loss coming from his abused hole. Would Dolph really leave him here to die?


	14. Chapter 14

Phil didn't bleed to death. That would have been a relief from his inner hell, true, but it seemed like fate had another idea in store for him. The flow of blood was staunched a few minutes later and all he was left with was a thick, uncomfortable crust on his skin. He frowned as he tried to roll off of the bed carefully, but every little movement was like his entire body had been hit with a steel chair. It was like an endless match with the monster, Kane.

Somehow, Phil carried himself into the bathroom and tumbled into the bathtub. He turned the water on as hot as it would come and just laid there, stretched out, and watched as the water turned his blood pink and caused it to slowly swirl down the drain. Slowly, Phil reached out and took hold of his duffel bag. He took out the blade that he always carried. And then his eyes slowly shifted back to his mutilated calves and knees.

Phil wasn't weak. Phil wasn't vulnerable. But he couldn't believe that he had let Dolph do this to him. A wave of desperation and anger came over him and without thinking; he took the knife and jammed it into his calf. Thankfully, it only went down a little bit and hit the bone, but it was still a sizeable cut. When the wave of pain hit him full-force, he yanked it out immediately and looked down, shocked, as blood started to pour out.

"Phil? Are you still here, baby?" He could hear Dolph call him from the other room. "I'm sorry about what I did. You know that I never meant to hurt you…" he trailed off.

Phil didn't really care either way. Dolph was an expendable liability. "I'm in the bathroom, Dolph."

Dolph wandered into the bathroom. When he saw all of the blood in the water, his eyes widened. Immediately, he worried that the blood was from the harsh way that he had treated Phil in the bedroom. And then he saw the decently sized gash that Phil had made in his calf. He fell to his knees and yanked Phil's leg out of the water, cursing all the while. What the hell was he thinking?

He voiced his frustrations. "What the hell, Phil? You could have fucking killed yourself! What if you decided to plunge that knife into your chest, huh? You could be dead right now!"

"There are worse things." Phil mumbled underneath his breath. But then, he shook it off. "I can't be WWE Champion if I'm dead. You shouldn't be worried about me. Worry about Chris."

"Oh, I don't have to worry about him. I've already made it known that I'm demanding my rematch. He'll get what is coming to him." Dolph said. "What did you mean by 'there are worse things'?"

Phil narrowed his eyes at him. "Nothing." The tone he used made it clear that he wasn't supposed to hear that.

"Why does that make me even more suspicious?" Dolph asked, one eyebrow raised. He didn't like Phil's tone.

"Don't worry about it." Phil shot back. He drained the water out of the tub and ushered Dolph out of the way, before he wrapped a towel around his body and made his way toward the bedroom. "Now, are you coming to bed or not?"

Dolph smiled, Phil's butchered calf momentarily forgotten. "Coming, Philly."

* * *

Dolph woke up at the crack of noon the following day, which irritated Phil to no end. He never slept much, so the fact that Dolph _always_ overslept, leaving him all alone with nothing to do? It pissed him off majorly.

"How's that cut on your leg?" was the first thing Dolph asked him.

"Just fucking peachy," Phil retorted. He had tended to it before Dolph passed out last night and just a few hours before. It definitely needed stitches, but he wasn't going to go to the hospital.

"No need to get pissy with me," Dolph grumbled. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. "I'm going to beat Chris in our rematch tonight. Then he'll see that he really can't win the big one."

"He won last night," Phil said. Sarcasm laced his voice. "And, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that the biggest event of the summer?"

"Never mind that," he waved his comment away. "AJ said she had some sort of stipulation that could change things drastically, but she won't tell me yet. I have a feeling this match will be more important than last night's."

"Cool," was all Phil had to say.

"You don't seem so excited with the fact that I'm going to kick his ass tonight," Dolph said. "Last night was a mistake. He got lucky."

"Luck's for losers. He clearly didn't lose."

Dolph narrowed his eyes. "Could you stop acting like Miss Bitch for a while? It's really starting to piss me the fuck off."

Phil gave him a one-fingered salute before he gently got out of bed. When he put pressure on his newly-cut leg, a sharp rush of pain shot up his entire leg and spread to his whole body. He hissed out slowly and limped to the bathroom. "I'm going to shower."

Phil showered as quickly as his injured leg would allow, and once he left the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist afterwards, he saw Dolph leaning over his duffel bag. He felt his heart stop in his chest when he realized what Dolph was holding.

"What's this?" Dolph asked quietly. He showed Phil the grainy photo to validate what he had just seen. Phil ran over to him, ignoring the painful protest from the gash on his calf, and snatched it from Dolph's hands. Despite his best efforts, he remained at a loss for words.

"Is that an ultrasound photo?" Dolph asked. "What's it doing in your bag?"

Phil's voice came back with a vengeance. "First of all, what were you doing in _my bag?_ I never gave you permission to walk your grimy hands all over my shit. Second, it's, uh, it's Selene's photo. You know Selene, my sister; she found out she was pregnant and uh, gave this to me so I had a picture of my future niece or nephew. God, I hate it when people touch my shit so fucking much, Dolph! Don't you _ever_ lay a finger on my bag again, got it?"

"Whatever, okay, I'm sorry," Dolph muttered, slightly embarrassed. "How's Selene doing, then?"

"That's none of your fucking business, now is it?" Phil hissed. He carefully stuffed the photo into his bag and zipped it all up. Phil's stomach flipped, nauseated. "I have to go to the bathroom."

He ran back into the bathroom and threw up in the toilet. His knees shook so badly he could barely stand up. A cold sweat coated his naked body as he continued shaking beyond his control. After a few minutes, he managed to flush the toilet and leave the bathroom once again. He dressed silently and grabbed his bag before he left the room without another word exchanged between him and the Show Off.

* * *

Well, this was it. Dolph had finally managed to succeed in his efforts to remove Chris from his and Phil's lives. Chris waved to the WWE Universe sadly. He had just lost his WWE Contract to none other than Dolph Ziggler. Tears welled in his eyes silently while he made his way to the gorilla position and further backstage. Even though his head hung in shame, he noted the supportive comments from his colleagues as he passed them in the halls. Suddenly, he was thrown against a wall. That seemed to be the norm when Dolph greeted him nowadays. He slid down the wall, without trying to fight back, and looked up sadly.

"Get the fuck outta here, Chris," Dolph sneered arrogantly. "Looks like you couldn't win the big one, yet again. I don't want to see you near myself or Phil ever again."

"You don't have to worry about that," Chris chuckled bitterly. "Consider me gone, buddy. You enjoy your life with Phil now. Looks like you're officially the better man for him after all."

Dolph smirked cockily. "You're finally right about something. Now get out of my arena!"


	15. Chapter 15

Phil limped to the back, still reeling from his embarrassment at the hands of John Cena _and_ Jerry Lawler. Who the hell did they think that they were, to talk to the WWE Champion like that? His leg gave out on him before he reached his locker room and he collapsed. He frowned, pulling at his shorts and his knee pads to find the gash in his calf. It bled heavily and had wet the inside of his boots and the bottom rim of his knee pad.

Why did they refuse to call him the 'Best in the World'? Why? As he asked this of himself over and over, he punched his leg just below the cut. Over and over, hit after hit, blood spurted out of the wound and coated his leg and his hand in the ruby red essence. When he finally become woozy from the blood loss, he pulled his hand away and looked at what he had done. He was a total mess. It made his stomach turn.

"Phil?" Phil looked up, startled, and came face-to-face with John Cena. The Golden Boy of the WWE stared down at him, shocked by the blatant display of self-harm in front of him.

"Why don't you take a picture, it'll last longer." Phil muttered. "What do you want, Cena? Can't you see that I'm a little busy?" Phil asked, a look of total seriousness on his face.

"Did you do that to yourself?" Cena motioned to the cut in Phil's leg, which still oozed blood freely.

"What if I did? Why would you care?" Phil sniffed. He took off his shirt and wrapped it around his leg.

"Typical. Why did I think that I got get a straight answer out of you?" Cena rolled his eyes. "Phil, why would you do this to yourself? You can't be the 'Best in the World' if you tear yourself apart."

Tears bubbled in his eyes. "Since when do you think that I'm the 'Best in the World'? You think that I'm some stupid wannabe. I'll show you wrong. I'll show you all wrong."

"Phil, let me help you." Cena offered. "You can't continue to hide like this."

"Who said that I was hiding? I'm proud of myself. I'm proud of what I've accomplished in WWE." Phil said.

"Are you proud of what you've done to yourself?"

Phil flinched. Without another word, he used the wall to climb to his feet. And then he started to hobble back to his locker room. Cena followed him at a slow, comfortable stride. Really, he could have walked normally and far exceeded the speed that Phil limped at now. With every step, more blood oozed into the shirt until the shirt was soaked through. At that point, it did more harm than good.

Finally, they arrived at Phil's locker room. John slammed a hand on the door above Phil's head. "At least tell me why, Phil. Why would someone as confident and as strong as you turn to self-harm as an out?"

Phil stared at him blankly. John knew that this wasn't _really_ Phil. It was someone else entirely. "Maybe I'm not as perfect as you think."

"Please let me help you," John repeated. His voice sounded strong and even, but on the inside, all he could think about was what had happened to Phil to make him break down like this. His heart went out to the younger man.

Phil fixed him with a hard stare for a few more moments before his knees started to buckle under his weight. John was there to steady him and hold him upright. "Fine," he finally relented. "If you want to help me, you can bring me to a hospital."

* * *

Dolph rushed into Phil's hospital room, worried sick. When he saw Phil lying in bed with his cut stitched up, relief washed over him. He ran to Phil's side and showered his face in kisses.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Philly," Dolph worried. "You have no idea how much blood you've lost because of that wound. You could have died!"

"Well, I'm fine now, aren't I?" Phil huffed, annoyed. He shifted in his bed to hopefully get away from Dolph's overload of affection. It did, because Dolph noticed John sitting to the side of the bed, watching the display in front of him with masked amusement.

"What are _you_ doing here, Cena?" Dolph hissed. He held onto Phil's hand territorially, which only made John smirk wider.

"Well, Ziggles, I was just saving your boyfriend's life. But, no big deal, right?"

"Shut it," Dolph snapped. He turned to Phil again. "How about we get out of here and go back to the hotel? You'll feel better if you can rest without being surrounded by all of… this." He motioned towards the bare, cold room as an example. "Huh, babe? I even have your baby waiting for you, safe and sound, on our bed."

Phil's eyes brightened. "Baby? Well, what the fuck are we waiting for? Let's go!"

"Who's baby?" John asked, confused.

"The belt," Dolph explained briefly. This went unnoticed by Phil, who was too busy getting out of bed and dressing quickly to hear. "He calls it his baby."

"Why?" John asked. He sounded more confused than before.

"I don't know," Dolph spat, exasperated. "You don't think I've tried to get it out of him? Trust me, I've tried. C'mon Philly, let's go now."

Phil still limped in pain, but he had a new bounce in his step that he lacked before.

"See you," John called to them before they left the room completely. Dolph rolled his eyes and helped Phil down the elevator and to his rental.

* * *

After a somewhat awkward drive back to the hotel, they arrived back at their room and Phil made a beeline for their bed. Dolph watched, somewhat amused but mostly worried for Phil's mental health. When his eyes fell on his baby, he smiled and climbed onto the bed, disregarding his stitched-up wound entirely, and clutched it to his chest. He would do whatever it took to keep his baby in his arms, pain be damned.


	16. Chapter 16

Phil paused outside of John Cena's hotel room and nervously took a breath in. Dr. Carole's office called him earlier regarding the follow-up appointment he forgot he had made. He was in no condition, physically or mentally, to be driving alone anywhere. And since he didn't want to bother Dolph before Smackdown, here he was asking Mr. Hustle, Loyalty, and Respect for a ride. He finally summoned the courage to knock feebly on the door. Knowing that wasn't enough for anyone to hear, he repeated himself, a little harder this time. He heard footsteps making their way to the door.

John's face lit up in surprise when he saw Phil standing on the other side of the door. "Come in," John offered politely. He stepped aside so Phil could walk in and plop himself down on the nearby couch. He sat at the other end and faced Phil. "So, what brings you here, Punkers?"

"Don't call me that," Phil hissed under his breath. "I was wondering, if you weren't busy, that is, if you'd drive me to my doctor in Chicago…"

John gave him a dimpled smirk and focused his blue eyes on his. "Why isn't ZigZag taking you? I thought you two were together or something."

"Smackdown," Phil explained briefly.

"And Chris?"

Phil's heart tightened. He hadn't thought of Chris for quite a few days now. Everything would be so much easier if he went back to his one true love and told him the truth… "You know I can't do that. If you don't want to drive me, please just let me be on my way." He was desperate.

"I never said I wouldn't drive you," John corrected him. "When's the appointment?"

"Tomorrow morning at ten," Phil said. "I know it's late and short notice, but I can't drive myself down the street even by myself."

"Do you have your bags packed?" John asked, his smile never faltering. Was it humanly possible to _never_ be upset about something? Phil nodded, to which John pushed himself up and started stuffing his belongings into a huge duffel bag on the floor. "Go get them, then. We'll leave from here once you get back."

* * *

For some reason that Phil couldn't completely understand, he felt somewhat close to John. Maybe it was due to the fact that he was the last person to feel his baby before he miscarried. Granted, he didn't know that his baby was there, but still. He let his hand drop to his stomach before he sighed quietly. John looked at him briefly from behind the wheel before refocusing on the road.

"What's on your mind, Jack?" John asked genuinely. Phil gave John a weird look at the use of his middle name before he sighed again.

"Nothing," he murmured sadly. He kept his hand against his stomach and curled his fingers inward comfortingly. "Where'd you stuff my bag?"

"In the back," John answered. Phil unbuckled himself and turned around in his seat to gain access to his bag. He took out his belt and knife before he sat back in his seat and snapped his seatbelt into place again.

John looked at him again quickly. "Put that knife down, Phil."

"No," Phil countered. "Who do you think you are, my mommy?"

John tightened his grip on the steering wheel and took a deep breath in to settle his anger. "I don't want to see you hurt yourself. You are such a respectable man, and to see you crumbling to pieces actually brings me pain. Please put it away."

"I'm not going to cut myself," Phil snapped. He did, however, put it away, much to John's relief. Instead, he cuddled his belt to his face and kissed the spinner a few times.

John decided to take a different approach at getting information from Phil. "Is that your baby, Phil?"

"Yes," he responded with pride. He smiled down at the gold and flicked the spinner gently.

John shifted slightly in his seat. "When did it become your baby?" he asked coolly.

"'Bout a month ago," he murmured quietly. The look of pride melted from his face in exchange for sadness and guilt.

"Are you the only parent?" John tried. "Did someone else help you make Baby?"

"Chris did," Phil sighed again. He trailed his finger down the side slowly. "Love makes beautiful things, John. Your love for the company made the championship change to this spinner belt. Isn't it great?"

John couldn't help but smile. "It sure is."

* * *

"What kind of doctor is Dr. Carole, Phil?" John asked as they pulled up to a discreetly marked building in Phil's hometown of Chicago, Illinois.

"He's a doctor for Baby." Phil answered nonchalantly. John may have looked at him oddly, but if he did, Phil didn't notice or take account. "I'll be back in about a half hour. You can do whatever you want until then."

John nodded, before he realized that Phil still had his title belt. "Phil, you're not really gonna take that in with you, are you? What if it gets lost or somebody takes it accidentally?"

Phil's eyes widened and then he snarled. "_Nobody_ is going to take my baby from me! _Nobody!_"

Before either man could say another word, Phil wandered into the doctor's office and John was left speechless. Unsure of what to do, he put the car in reverse and decided to drive around for half an hour. Meanwhile, Phil checked in at the front desk and the receptionist told him to head to the back. He went into Exam Room One, which was where Dr. Carole had first told him that he had miscarried. Dr. Carole was waiting for him.

He hopped up onto the bed and lay down, inching his shirt up just enough so that the doctor could see the rapidly fading scar on his belly. It was just beneath his Straight-Edge tattoo. Once he was comfortable, he stretched out the title belt beside him. Dr. Carole came over and slid a pair of gloves over his hands, before he felt around the scar to make sure that there was no unneeded swelling or excessive scar tissue. There wasn't.

"Well, Phil, I have good news. You seem to have fully recovered from the D&C. Now, it is normal to expect occasional bleeding for another week or so. If it becomes excessively heavy, come back and talk to me." He scribbled a few notes down onto his clipboard.

"Am I cleared to return to my normal exercises?" Phil asked. He really missed going for an early morning jog and lifting, but he knew that he couldn't do that without risking further damage to his body.

"Yes." Dr. Carole said. "You are also cleared to return to your normal level of intimacy. You have fully healed from the D&C, so you shouldn't have any problems getting pregnant again if you so choose."

Phil's eyes widened. "So, I could have another baby..?"

"Yes." Dr. Carole smiled. "You could have another baby."


	17. Chapter 17

John was waiting outside of the building when Phil stepped out of the double doors holding the belt in his arms protectively. Was that… was Phil _smiling?_ And skipping, no less? John widened his eyes in disbelief as he watched the raven skip onwards until he gracefully landed into the passenger seat with a smile. John pried his eyes away from the spectacle in front of him and focused his attention on driving out of the lot.

"How'd it go?" John asked conversationally.

"Great!" Phil said happily.

"How's Baby doing?" John asked.

Phil's smile fell slightly. "Baby's fine," he sighed slowly.

John drove on in silence for a few minutes. Whatever type of doctor that Dr. Carole was, Phil should _really_ be seeing a psychiatrist instead. This was further proved when he witnessed Phil bring the belt up to his ear as if it was talking to him.

"Baby's hungry," he declared seriously. "I know it's a little early, but can we stop somewhere to eat?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," John muttered finally. "You look out for road signs and tell me which one Baby wants to eat at, okay?"

They drove a few more miles until Phil slapped John's right arm forcefully. He flinched and almost went into the oncoming lane, although thankfully they didn't. John narrowed his eyes and hissed out, "What is it, Phil?"

"Baby wants to eat at Pizzeria Uno," Phil announced casually. "Take the next exit and it's down the street a little bit."

Once John had driven them and parked on the street, Phil hopped out of the car with the belt still in his arms. John could feel his cheeks reddening in embarrassment at the image of Phil bringing the belt with him and referring to it as his child in public. He definitely wasn't being paid enough to do this.

* * *

After a mortifying lunch where Phil demanded a booster seat for the belt and nearly went into a screaming match with the waitress over the matter, John had never been happier to leave a restaurant in his entire life. For the poor waitress's efforts, he left her a fifty dollar tip and hurried him and Phil – belt in hand – out of there. Once outside of the building, John turned to Phil and released his frustrations.

"Phil, if you don't calm down a little with that damn belt, I am going to lose my cool," he fumed loudly.

Phil narrowed his eyes at him and said nastily, "Fuck you! It's not just a belt, Cena; it's my baby!"

John stormed back to the car hurriedly. He didn't know if he could handle Phil making another scene in public over his belt. He climbed in and waited for Phil to catch up before he angrily shoved the key into the ignition and started off again.

"Can we go to Barnes and Noble?" Phil asked. "It's only a few blocks away."

"What do you want to go there for?" John wondered aloud.

"Books," Phil snapped. "What the fuck else would I get at a bookstore?"

"Fine," John sighed. He drove through the slightly congested city until they reached the bookstore. "I have to make a call. I'll be inside Starbucks in about ten minutes if you need me."

"Okay," Phil said. He got out of the car and slung his belt over his shoulder before he ran inside. John found an empty parking space and shut the car off with a sigh. He scrolled through his contacts until he got the number he was looking for.

_"Hey, John, how's it going with Phil?"_ Chris asked cheerfully.

"Chris, it is _so_ much worse than we ever imagined," John murmured slowly. "He is mentally unstable; and unlike AJ, his mental stability should be under extreme scrutiny."

_"What have you gathered?"_ Chris asked, now serious.

"Many things," John sighed. "None of which make any sense, mind you. The doctor he had me drive him to is apparently a doctor for Baby. Oh, I should mention that 'Baby' is his title belt. As well, he truly believes that the belt is his child. He told me Baby was hungry, so we went to Pizzeria Uno, where he demanded the waitress bring over a booster seat for the damned belt. Oh, and I noticed something totally off-character about him, too; when he came out of the doctor's office, he was smiling and skipping towards the car, two things that Phil normally never does. I have no idea what's going on in his brain, Chris. I don't even think _he_ knows what's going on up there."

* * *

Phil walked into the local Barnes and Noble, the title belt on his shoulder. When he coddled the belt and kissed it a few times, he earned an odd look from the other patrons of the store. He scowled at them and their looks scattered in all directions. Phil smiled, content, and consoled Baby, who had been 'insulted' by the looks.

He walked down the aisles and took a few comic books that he could add to his collection back at his apartment. Once he had those, he walked over to the Maternity aisle and took _What To Expect When You're Expecting_ off of the shelf. Phil's smile never faltered as he looked the book over. Maybe Baby would want a little brother or sister.

Once he had purchased all of the books, he went out and found John at Starbucks, exactly where he said he would be. John finished up his call and offered Phil a weak smile. He wasn't exactly sure what to expect after the afternoon that they had just had. Phil beamed at him.

"Can we go home now?" Phil asked him. He sounded a lot calmer and nicer then he had before.

"Yeah." John nodded. He was silently thankful that Phil hadn't asked for any more impromptu trips. "What books did you buy?" John asked.

"Just a few comic books…" Phil trailed off, before he started to make his way out to the car.


	18. Chapter 18

John Cena stood beside Lawler's fallen body as he watched Phil walk back toward the locker room, a proud smile on his face. However, that smile melted when he made it to the back. He raced to the nearest bathroom and stormed into one of the stalls, falling to his knees and vomiting into the toilet bowl. He didn't even hear when John walked into the room, furious with Phil and ready to vent about it. That was, of course, until he heard how sick Phil was.

"Phil?" All of the frustration melted out of John's body and it was immediately replaced by concern. He walked across the bathroom and easily found the stall that Phil was in. "Phil, are you okay?"

Phil tensed. He knew that he had been discovered, but he was too sick to actually care. When he was down to dry heaves, he weakly reached over and flushed the toilet. "Of course I'm not fucking okay, John."

"Well, then, what's the matter? Do you have the stomach flu?" John asked. Phil slowly rolled around and noticed for the first time that there was blood all over his legs. "Phil?" He couldn't have done that to himself, could he?

"I know what you're thinking. No, I didn't fucking cut myself. Why would I cut myself in such an obvious place? What do you think I am, an idiot?" Phil hissed. He shifted around and tried to find the source of the blood.

"Phil, take off your trunks." John ordered. He was eerily calm about it.

Phil looked at him like he had obtained a third head. "What?"

"I said, take off your trunks," John repeated.

"Why?" Phil snapped quickly. "I know I've got a nice body and all, but you're taking it a bit far."

John rolled his eyes. "_You_ don't even know where the bleeding is coming from. If you take them off maybe we can figure it out."

Phil sighed and yanked the waistband of his trunks down. He lifted his hips in the air to get them over his ass before he left them hanging around his knee pads. John helped him to his feet, and immediately he noticed the source of his blood. He must have scratched himself on the steel cage, because right near his incision line sat a small, deep, wound that slowly leaked blood down his legs. Thankfully, John didn't notice the incision line.

"Damn it, Phil, how did you scratch yourself that badly on the steel cage?" John asked slowly. He warily reached out to pull the waistband of Phil's underwear down to get a better look, and to his surprise, Phil allowed him to do so. "We need to see the trainer to get that cleaned up, Phil. You don't want that getting infected."

"Okay," Phil mumbled without protest. He pulled his trunks back up and let John walk him to the trainer. There, he was taken care of quickly. Thankfully the cut didn't need more than four small stitches. Once he was done, John led him to his locker room to gather his bags before he took Phil to his rental.

Once they were in the car and driving, John turned to him and said, "You know you can't keep hiding whatever it is that you're hiding for much longer, Phil. You're falling apart at the seams."

He tried to swallow around the huge lump in his throat to no avail. "I don't know what you're talking about, Cena," he muttered quietly. Phil knew what John was talking about. But he was not about to tell anybody his secret any time soon.

* * *

John helped Phil back to his hotel room that he still shared with Dolph. The door seemed to open after the first knock that Phil hit upon it, and a worried looking Dolph stood on the other side.

"I heard you got hurt!" Dolph stated. He drew Phil into his arms and gave him a hug. "Thanks for taking care of him, John. I've got him now."

John gave him a half-smirk and a wave before he left. Phil entered the hotel room and shut the door behind him. He stood awkwardly in the doorway for a few moments. "I'm going to take a shower," he finally announced. Dolph let him go without any objections.

In the bathroom, Phil took a quick shower, careful to avoid his new stitched-up wound. He got out and wrapped a towel around his waist before going back into the bedroom.

"I bet Chris was too stupid to ever appreciate you the way I do," Dolph snickered. "He had about half a brain cell in his entire body! I'm surprised he managed to function day-to-day."

Anger rushed through Phil's veins. "Stop talking about him like that."

"I thought you didn't love him anymore," Dolph said pointedly. "I thought you loved me."

"I… do love you," Phil choked out the lie painfully. Dolph was merely a means of keeping his secret from Vince. He couldn't fuck that up. "But I still care about Chris. He and I were together for years. He's not stupid and he loves me. So please stop criticizing him, okay?"

"I was just stating the truth, but if it makes you happy…" Dolph's voice trailed off. Instead, he turned to his side and came back holding the belt. "Look who I have, Philly!"

"Baby!" Phil said weakly. He slowly got into bed with the blond and hugged the belt close. "I love you, Baby."

While he snuggled the gold to his face, he felt Dolph watching him. Embarrassed heat rushed to his face. He dropped down onto the bed and rolled over. "Goodnight, Dolph. Turn the light off?"

The room became shrouded in blackness once Dolph hit the table lamp's switch. Phil held the belt close to his beating heart and tried to fall asleep amidst his still overwhelming embarrassment.

* * *

_"What do you have for me?"_ Chris asked.

"Punk attacked Jerry Lawler on Raw. Afterwords, I found him in the bathroom puking his brains out and bleeding all over the place. I'm worried about him, Chris. It's like he doesn't even care anymore." John said.

_"But he let you take care of him?"_ Chris asked, shocked.

"Yeah." John nodded, even though Chris couldn't see it. "He even trusted me enough to let me come near the wound. Maybe he just needs to let someone inside. He needs someone he can trust."

_"Well, I can't be there for him. I've tried and he just doesn't trust me enough."_ Chris said sadly. _"I guess the one that he really trusts is you. So, it's up to you to crack the surface and find out what is going on inside of him."_

"I'll try, Chris. But I'm honestly not sure how long I can put up with this madness." John said.

_"All I can ask you to do is try."_


	19. Chapter 19

But it was the week after that, when Phil walked out on his match with Sheamus, that he crossed the line. A frazzled AJ frantically searched for an opponent for Sheamus, which turned out to be the All-American American. The match could only be a shadow of what it could have been if it had been Sheamus vs. Punk. Frustrated, Sheamus cornered Phil at the hotel room after the show was over. He knocked on the door harshly and waited.

After a few minutes, Phil answered the door. He had a decent sized shiner on his cheek from where Jerry Lawler had clocked him on the cheek a week before. He dabbed at his hair with the towel he had on his shoulder, and for the first time, Sheamus realized that Phil was shirtless. Slowly, his eyes traveled down and inspected every inch of tattooed flesh, until it disappeared beneath his boxers. That was when he saw the incision scar.

"Was there something that you wanted, Sheamus?" Phil asked, annoyed. "I know that you're not one for respect, but most people don't knock on someone's door at 2:00 AM."

Sheamus smirked. "Yeah, well I'm not most people, am I fella?" And then, Sheamus' smirk fell. "You had a lot of nerve to walk out on our match. It was disrespectful and I want an apology."

"That was disrespectful? I have been nothing but respectful toward you and every other fucking person that I meet. It's everyone else that disrespects me." Phil said.

"You're delusional if you actually think that." Sheamus said. "And you'll lose that belt faster than you can hoist it in the air. Do you really want that?"

Phil's eyes flickered over to his belt. "Don't look at my belt like that!"

"What? It's a title belt, Phil. It's some gold slathered onto a leather belt. It's not like it's a human." Sheamus said.

Phil's eyes widened and suddenly filled with hurt. Dejection filled his entire stance and his free hand came to rest on his bare stomach. "What do you want from me, Sheamus?"

Phil knew that the belt wasn't really his Baby. He knew that that was all it was, a leather belt with some gold plating. His real baby was dead. Phil's hand clenched and his short nails dug painfully into his stomach. Why did he have to lose the baby? Why couldn't he have been stronger? Why did he have to be out there on commentary? Maybe if he hadn't been out there, he would still be with his baby.

"I want you to admit that you were disrespectful to me and I want you to apologize." Sheamus told him firmly. His eyes flickered with determination and Phil knew that he wouldn't back down.

Phil narrowed his eyes at him. "Like hell."

All of a sudden, Dolph came down the hall. He reeked of alcohol – probably a celebratory round. "Sheamus – what the hell are you doing, bothering my boyfriend?"

"I see that you've really moved up the food chain, Philly." Sheamus joked. "You went from a class-act like Jericho to the class-clown, Dolph Ziggler."

Dolph ignored him. "He didn't upset you, did he?"

Phil nodded. "He belittled Baby."

Sheamus looked confused. "Who's Baby?"

Dolph narrowed his eyes at him. "Look, I suggest you walk away before I kick your ass and you _can't_ walk. Do you understand me?"

Sheamus frowned. "You think that I'm afraid of a little man like you, fella? I'd fight you, but I'm too afraid that I might cut myself when I shatter your planet-sized ego."

Both men were shocked out of their altercation when Phil collapsed between them, face-first onto the floor. Immediately, Dolph turned his attention from Sheamus to Phil. He shook the smaller man's shoulder and rolled him onto his back, before he brushed his un-gelled hair away from his face. His breath was labored and his face was flushed. Worry flooded Dolph's body and he scooped the smaller man into his arms.

When he looked back, Sheamus had vanished down the hall. Dolph walked into the hotel room and set Phil's vulnerable body down onto the bed. He lay down beside Phil's body and watched as Phil breathed slowly, in and out, even if he was still unconscious. He needed to know what the matter was with Phil, but he could only ask when Phil was conscious. So, he would lay there and wait…

* * *

_"So, have you got any updates, Cena?"_

John sighed into his phone. "Sorry, Chris; I'm trying, I really am. Yesterday and today I tried calling and texting Phil, but he won't answer me. I even tried going to he and Dolph's hotel room, but my knocks weren't answered, either."

Nothing came from the other line except a short sigh. Then, Chris said, _"I hope nothing happened to him. Hopefully he's just being indignant about not getting the 'respect' he claims is being denied to him. He can be very stubborn and cranky if he wants to be."_

"I think I'll try calling him again, Chris. Talk to you later."

* * *

Phil shook his head tiredly once he saw _another_ call coming from John. That man had been calling him nonstop the past day. Really, Phil would have chopped off his arm to get away from Dolph's ever-protective stare for an afternoon. It was really starting to grate on his nearly nonexistent patience. But Dolph kept Phil under so much scrutiny that he didn't dare answer any of John's calls for fear of what he would do. So, he hit ignore.

"Who was that?" Dolph called once he heard the first few rings. Phil rolled his eyes.

"Wrong number, I think," Phil answered. With the scrutiny came a sense of jealousy Phil hadn't seen before from the blond. He didn't want to piss him off again.

A few minutes after he ignored the call, he received a text from Cena.

_Dude, are you okay? Can we meet up somewhere? I wanna talk to you._

Phil stole a quick glance at Dolph, who appeared to be getting ready to take a shower.

"I think I'm gonna take a walk," Phil told Dolph slowly. "I'm feeling a bit cramped in here. You enjoy your shower."

Dolph instantly was at his side. "But what if you fall again, Phil? I don't want you to get hurt!"

Phil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I fainted, Dolph. I've tried telling you this numerous times. I'll be fine."

Phil left the hotel with an unsure-looking Dolph watching him as he went.

_Main lobby of the hotel in five,_ he sent to John.


	20. Chapter 20

Phil listened to the soft chime of the elevator as it let him off on the main floor of the hotel. He met Cena a little ways off from the reception desk, where he said that he would be. It seemed as if the Cenation Hero calmed down when he saw that Phil was, in fact, still in one piece. Phil twitched when he felt an awkward twist in his stomach. That familiar wooziness filled him and he felt like he would faint for a second time. He leaned on a nearby wall for support.

John walked over to him and noticed the look on his face. He frowned, uncertain if he should be worried about the younger man or if he should be upset at him. Finally, when Phil's face contorted awkwardly, John decided that he needed to be worried about him. John took Phil by the arm and led him over to a nearby chair, moderately surprised that Phil allowed him to do that, and both of them sat down.

"Phil, tell me what the problem is? Is it your stomach?" John asked worriedly. He watched as Phil clenched his hand around his stomach – clench and release, clench and release, over and over.

"My stomach hurts a little bit. But don't worry about it. The Best in the World can't worry about a little stomach virus…" Phil's voice broke at the end as he had to fight back tears as another wave of pain came.

"Maybe you need to see a doctor." John offered. "What about the doctor for Baby?" John asked. He forgot what the doctor's name was, but he knew that he had made Phil feel better.

"I just have a little stomach ache. Why would I need to see a doctor?" Phil asked, one eyebrow raised. "No, I just came down here to tell you that I'm fine and to stop calling and texting me. Dolph is freaking out."

"Phil, just tell me what the problem is. I don't want to have to worry about you all the time." John mumbled.

"You don't have to worry about me." Phil said. "Nobody has to worry about me. I can take care of myself."

"Phil -," John trailed off, unsure of what he could say to challenge that.

Phil looked at him, and for the first time, his walls broke down and John saw the truth. He saw the broken man underneath Phil's skin. "I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

Phil had never told a bigger lie in his life.

* * *

John saw into Phil's eyes clearly for the first time. Pain, anger, guilt, depression, hate, sadness, and many more emotions lurked there. Behind the walls that Phil built to protect himself, he hid these strong emotions. Now, they had been revealed to the surface for the first time, and John could see he didn't know what to do about it.

This all hit him with such surprise he couldn't do anything but gape at the younger man. Phil noticed the surprise and quickly averted his gaze. "I'm fine," he said. "Don't worry about it."

His body shook beyond his control. John reached out and grabbed Phil's hand in his. "Come on, Phil."

Phil got up and followed without one complaint or question. Once they were in the safety and privacy of John's hotel room, Phil broke down and started crying. John led him to the couch in the middle of the room and sat them down. He rubbed Phil's back comfortingly as he rode out his sobs. Once his tears ran dry, John looked into his eyes again. All he could see was how exhausted Phil was.

"Do you want to take a nap?" John asked quietly.

Phil nodded, but quickly said, "Dolph'll freak if he doesn't know where I am."

"I'll tell him I met up with you and saw you were tired," John said. Deeming that a reasonable answer, Phil rested his head against John's chest and found himself asleep within moments. He was too tired to make it to the bed, even. John gently stroked his hand though Phil's short hair and up and down his back comfortingly.

"I don't know what's wrong with you yet, but when I find out, I promise I'll help you as much as I can," he whispered to the sleeping form on top of him.

* * *

John felt something shifting on his chest. He opened his eyes tiredly. While he hadn't been able to fall asleep, he had managed to drift in and out of sleep for a few hours. He saw Phil slowly raising his head and looking up at him. John gave him a dimpled smile before he ran his hand down Phil's cheek comfortingly. "Have a good sleep?" he asked.

"Yeah," Phil murmured tiredly. He rubbed at his eyes. "I think I should be getting back to Dolph now. He's probably worried sick."

"I'll bring you," John offered. Phil didn't object. "I want you to rest once you get back, okay? We don't want you giving that stomach virus to Baby."

Phil looked up at John, his expression blank. "Yeah, we wouldn't want that," he murmured quietly.

Once they were outside of Dolph's hotel room, John leaned in and repeated what he said to Phil when he was asleep. "I don't know what's wrong with you yet, but when I find out, I promise I'll help you as much as I can."

Phil looked at him gratefully before the door opened up to the knocking. Dolph instantly had Phil in his arms and fixed John with an angry glare. "What were you doing, Cena? Why did you have my baby with you?!"

"Calm down, Ziggles," John answered smoothly. "I saw Phil walking around and he seemed exhausted. I offered to bring him back here, but he nearly passed out just walking for a few minutes, so I took him to my hotel instead. Nothing happened, buddy; Phil just took a nap. Now he's back."

Dolph glared at him for a few moments more. Finally, he pulled away from Phil and started to fuss over him. John took that as his cue to give them both a salute before he walked off.


	21. Chapter 21

**The Next Monday**

Phil's sudden, and somewhat uncalled for, alliance with Paul Heyman had done more than turned a few heads. The other stars in the locker room seemed to look at him differently, even _treat_ him differently – and the way that they treated him, well, it certainly wasn't respectful. Actually, it was more like he was trash. Trash that was unworthy to be beneath their _feet_. But Phil knew better. All of the others, they were only jealous.

He sat on the bench in the locker room and cuddled his WWE Title belt to his chest. However, for some reason, it didn't have the same warm, comforting effect that it normally did. In fact, it almost made him feel hollow. The title that he had worked so hard to defend had reverted back to what it actually was, a leather belt with gold plating. It wasn't his baby. His baby was dead. His stomach turned and he had to set the belt down and turn away.

That was when John Cena wandered over to him. The two had just finished their brutal tag team match and John Cena had come out as the victor, albeit a cheap victory. Phil had to commend him. That was one dedicated ref and one star (who, ironically, normally preached on and on about doing the right thing) who would walk away with any win that he could hold in his hands. It didn't matter how he earned it.

"Are you okay there, Phil?" John asked. He slid onto the bench beside Phil and turned to face the smaller man. "You look like the world is about to end."

Phil looked at him solemnly. "I just… I lost something very important to me and I can't seem to get it back." Phil confessed. He didn't venture into further detail, but John had a hunch.

"Are you still upset over the fact that you lost the match? Listen, Phil. It was a bad call by the ref. It's no reason to get your panties in a knot." John told him.

Phil stared into his eyes for a few seconds, before he looked away. "It's not about the match, John. It's about me not managing to be able to do anything right. I can't even carry…" here, he trailed off.

"Carry, what?" John pushed him to continue, but Phil just shook his head and stared down at his feet. "Phil."

"What?" Phil didn't look at him, but John could hear his voice start to tremble.

John smacked a hand onto the raven's shoulder in a show of silent support. "I just wanted to let you know that I'll be here for you when you're ready to talk. Don't ever feel like you have to hold it all inside, okay?"

Phil hesitated for a moment, before he nodded slowly. "Okay."

It was only after John had finally walked away from him that Phil allowed the tears to fall. What he had said was entirely true. He felt like such a failure. His entire life was unraveling before his eyes and he honestly had no idea what to do about it. First, Chris left. Then, Dolph started to abuse him, all the while threatening to tell Vince of his mental instability. And now, he couldn't even win a match.

But before he could further dwell on his own shortcomings, Paul Heyman made his way over to him, briefcase in hand. That could only mean one thing. Paul had taken into account the ref's blatant lack of respect for the champ and had found a way to sue WWE for the wrongful loss, which would cost Phil money. But, surprisingly, Phil had absolutely no interest in a law suit. All he wanted to do was climb into bed and sleep for a year.

"Great news, Punk. Great news. All you have to do is sign on the dotted line to receive your rematch – it will have a new ref and a no disqualification stipulation. What do you say?" Paul smiled his slimy smile.

Phil knew that that was an offer he just couldn't turn down. "I say… okay."

* * *

Phil made his way to his hotel room feeling more alone than ever. He didn't even have the comfort of Baby to calm him anymore. With a sigh, he opened the door and pushed it open to a seething Dolph. He quickly backtracked the past few hours in his mind to find a reason Dolph would be so pissed at him. He couldn't find one.

"What's wrong?" he asked weakly.

Dolph slapped him across the face hard. He stumbled back from the pain and clutched his face in his hands.

"I saw you talking to John Cena after your match," he hissed. "You let him put his filthy hands on you. I don't like him, Phil. I don't want you seeing him."

The pain made him woozy. "I'm a grown man, Dolph; the WWE Champion, no less. You can't tell me what to do."

Another blow from Dolph followed suit. This time it was a punch to the temple. Phil's knees buckled underneath him and he collapsed on the floor messily.

"I don't want you seeing him!" Dolph shouted at him. Tears formed at the corners of Phil's eyes.

"Please stop hitting me," he begged. "I won't see him again, Dolph, just please stop hitting me!"

Dolph grunted and took a step back. "Good. I'm going to the bar now. If you're not here when I get back, I'll tell Vince about that night you threw your knife at me and you'll lose your job like that."

Phil watched through blurry vision as Dolph slammed the door shut behind him. Once the door was shut, he allowed himself to cry pitifully. Too weak to walk, he crawled over to his bag and took out his knife. He propped himself up against the bed and stared at the knife in his hands while he continued crying. He didn't know what to do. His life just continued to unravel at the seams. How much longer could he take this?

He wiped his eyes with his fists and, teeth clenched, he sliced a large cut in his upper thigh. The blood spurted out of him, bright red, at a sickeningly quick rate.

"Shit," he grumbled to himself. He tried sopping up the blood with the tape on his wrists to no avail. Without thinking, he pulled out his phone and quickly dialed John.

"Hey, Phil, what's up?" John answered.

"John, can you come get 'e?" he slurred into the phone. "I'm gonna bleed out…"

"I'll be right there, Phil," John responded. He sounded worried for the younger man. Phil dropped the phone and stared at the door, praying John would get there soon. After a couple minutes, John appeared in the doorway.

"Sorry, I had to go down and get a key- holy shit, Phil, what have you done?!" John was at his side in moments calling an ambulance. Phil felt his eyes shut. He couldn't get them to open back up.

"I cut," he murmured quietly. His lungs were screaming for air, but he couldn't get enough, no matter how deeply he breathed. He felt John tie what felt like a belt right near his groin and pull tight. The blood stopped pulsing bright red spurts out of him. While the belt was still pulled tight, he felt a cotton-y material push down on his wound hard. The pain ultimately made him pass out.

* * *

"So, they don't know how, but you got a nice concussion to go along with the wound that severed your femoral artery," John explained to Phil, who had just woken up in the hospital. "Don't worry yourself, either; after the paramedics took you here, I went and found Ziggles, who thankfully wasn't too plastered to understand what was going on, and now he's just worried about you. I figured you'd want me to do that."

Phil nodded quickly. This made his stomach flip immediately. "Bucket!" he called to John desperately. He handed over the pink basin just in time for Phil to empty his stomach into it. He laid back, dizzy, and looked over at John again. "Thank you. Thank you for everything, John. I'd be dead right now if it weren't for you."

"What made you try to kill yourself?" John asked slowly. Phil felt his head spin aside from the concussion. Should he tell John? He didn't know if he was ready. But, come to think of it, would he ever be "ready"?

"A lot," Phil admitted quietly. His throat closed up before he could confess to John about the miscarriage. "Just, a lot, John. Sorry you had to see me like that."

Maybe another day…

a98808df-11ff-4983-8b3d-56f908b4e4a4

Y2:a98808df-11ff-4983-8b3d-56f908b4e4a4


	22. Chapter 22

"Well, Chris, I have an update. Phil called me after Raw and told me that I had to come take him to the hospital. I wasn't all that worried, until I made it to the hotel room and there was blood all over the floor…"

Chris was silent for a moment. _"Please, tell me that he's okay. He is okay, isn't he?"_ John made an affirmative noise. _"Thank God. Do you know if it was one of his old injuries or if he made a new cut?"_

John swallowed hard and wiped at his eyes. He wasn't sure how much more of this shit he could handle. "It was new. He severed his femoral artery and was about to bleed out. He also had a severe concussion."

_"Where the hell was Dolph?"_ Chris hissed, pissed that the blond, who had claimed to love Phil, was nowhere to be found. _"He should have been there for Phil!"_

John was silent for a minute, before he mumbled, "I think that Dolph may have been part of the problem."

_"What do you mean?"_ Chris asked.

"I think that Dolph has been abusive toward Phil." John said.

_"That little bastard! I knew I should have never trusted him with Phil. John… I need you to do me a favor."_ Chris said. _"I would do it myself, but I'm thousands of miles away at the moment."_

John nodded, even if Chris couldn't see it. "Whatever you need. I'll do it."

_"Phil's breaking down. I can hear it in the way that you describe him. He's so close to that breakthrough. All he needs is one final push. If you push hard enough, he'll crack. Just promise that you'll keep trying."_

John swallowed hard and scrubbed at his eyes, furious at the fact that they continued to betray him. "I promise, Chris. I'll find out what's going on in his head. I promise."

* * *

The first few days after Phil's suicide attempt, Dolph never left his side. It almost made the raven claustrophobic. But he bore every minute of it, mostly because he knew that Dolph still held the string that controlled the axe above his head. Phil would let Dolph changed the bandage on his leg, making sure that there wasn't any infection and that the stitches were clean. He even let the blond apply scar removal cream to his calves.

However, when Dolph had to leave for SmackDown, Phil started to receive texts from John Cena. Upon orders from his boyfriend (not that Phil could really be ordered around by anyone, but he refused to lose his job because Dolph decided to be an asshole and tell Vince what had actually happened), Phil was stretched out on the bed and only allowed to leave if he needed food or if he had to use the bathroom.

_Blondie's gone for SmackDown, right? _

_Yes,_ Phil responded.

Phil didn't get a response for nearly ten minutes. However, he did hear a brief knock on the door before it opened itself up to John. His eyes looked slightly rimmed red.

"You look tired," Phil commented. The light from the hallway made his head spin. "Close the door, please. I'm gonna get a migraine."

John shut the door behind him. The only light in the room came from the window, which, although the curtains were drawn, some light still filtered through enough to give them visibility. He joined Phil on the bed.

"Why so quiet?" Phil asked him tiredly. He lay back on the bed and looked at John, waiting for a response. After a few moments of not getting one, he sighed. "It's not like you to be so quiet, John."

That's when he noticed the soft shaking of John's shoulders. One sniff from the Golden Boy of the WWE confirmed his suspicions.

"John? Are you crying?" Phil asked seriously.

John looked up at him with tears trickling down his face. He wiped at them desperately. "I'm just so worried about you, Phil. If I hadn't been there, you would have died. I just wish I knew what made you feel so low you wanted to die rather than deal with life anymore."

Phil felt his throat tighten. "I couldn't carry it," he squeaked out, almost inaudibly.

"What couldn't you do, Phil?" John asked, now serious. He wiped his last tear away and moved himself closer to Phil. He took his hands in his. "Phil?"

Tears welled in Phil's eyes. He couldn't hold them back. "I couldn't carry it," he repeated himself loudly. His tears spilled over and fell down his face messily. "Baby. I couldn't carry Baby."

"What do you mean, Phil?" John asked. He was clearly confused. "You carry Baby every day!"

"I couldn't carry Baby," Phil repeated through his tears. He choked back a sob and instead cried into his palms. "I'm so sorry Baby. I'm sorry I couldn't carry you."

John tried to get more out of Phil to no avail. Instead, he held onto Phil's hands comfortingly. Once Phil cried himself out, John tried one last time.

"How didn't you carry Baby?"

Phil pointed at his abdomen a few times. "I couldn't carry Baby," he repeated again. "And it's your fault, too."

John was silent as he let the words sink in. Phil broke down into another fit of sobs and started to curl in on himself. His arms were wrapped around his midsection, where 'baby' used to be. So, Phil hadn't actually fallen into the deep-end of the pool. There _had_ been an actual baby. And from the sound of it, when he had miscarried, it had been extremely traumatic. Without a moment of hesitation, John reached out and took Phil into his arms.

At first, Phil didn't want to be touched. He scratched and bit and screamed. He did absolutely everything in his power to get John to release him. But the Cenation Hero wouldn't move. He only continued to lull Phil into a trance-like state, whispering sweet nothings into the Straight Edge Star's ear. After awhile, he calmed down and allowed himself to be held. It felt nice to just feel the comfort of another body near his own.

"So baby… was actually a real baby?" John clarified.a98808df-11ff-4983-8b3d-56f908b4e4a4

Phil nodded and sniffled. "It was real. It was only three months old. I didn't even know the gender, but I loved it. And then you came and plowed into my stomach and killed it. Why, John? Why did you kill my baby?"Y2:a98808df-11ff-4983-8b3d-56f908b4e4a4


	23. Chapter 23

"I don't understand, Phil. What do you mean that _I_ killed your baby? I never even touched you!" John exclaimed. Phil could hear the fear in his voice, but there was also a sadness that rested just beneath the surface.

Phil sniffled and closed his eyes, almost instantly bombarded by the memory. "Paul threw you into me and we both crashed to the floor and there was so, so much blood…"

"My God, Phil. I'm so sorry. I never would have… I didn't…" and somehow, knowing about the baby just made it all ten-times worse. "Did you tell Chris?"

"How could I tell Chris? I never told him about the baby. I never had a chance to! I couldn't taunt him with the idea of a baby but then take it away. That would just be cruel." Phil whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

But John shook his head and took hold of Phil's face. "No. What's cruel is the fact that you had to bear the weight of that horrific situation all alone. I'm so sorry, Phil. So sorry."

Phil just let the tears continue to roll down his cheeks. He felt so betrayed, so lost. He could still remember that night so clearly. He had told Paul specifically that he wasn't out there to instigate a fight, that all he wanted was to call the match with Michael Cole and Jerry Lawler, but Paul had felt the need to throw Cena into him anyone and had killed his baby. They had _both_ killed his baby. Phil choked back a sob and squeezed his eyes closed.

But there was still more, John could see that. He could feel that in the tension that resided in Phil's shoulders. Not sure how to confront the matter, he put a hand on the back of Phil's head and brought him in to his chest. A look of complete and utter trust passed between them, before Phil squeezed his eyes closed and buried his face in the Cenation Hero's chest. Immediately, tears wet his 'Rise Above Cancer' t-shirt.

How should he tell Chris about this? Phil had entrusted this information to him, had trusted him above all others. It felt like betrayal to turn around and tell someone else, even if Chris loved him more than life itself. At least, without Phil's permission. And from the embarrassed tint to his pale cheeks, the way he curled in on John and held him like a lifeline, John was fairly certain that Phil expected that the information would stay between them.

"Phil, look at me." John commanded softly. Phil drew back a little bit, rubbed at his eyes, and cast a far-off look at John. "I have one question to ask. If you don't want to answer it, then you don't have to. Okay?"

Phil nodded and swallowed hard, before he blinked to clear his blurry vision. "Okay."

"When I took you to the hospital for this," John tapped his upper thigh gently, "the doctor told me that you had a concussion." Phil tensed. "Hey, there. Take it easy. Remember, you don't have to answer."

Phil closed his eyes. He could feel Dolph's hands as they slithered all over his body. "I know."

"I want to know if Dolph was the one who caused that concussion, Phil."

Phil swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut a little tighter. "I… I…"

"Phil, if you _do_ decide to answer me, you can rest assured that I won't tell Dolph a word of what you say." John assured him. "All you have to do is make your choice."

A momentary silence. "Yes. Dolph was the one who hit me."

For a second, Cena saw red. It bled before his eyes and it made his blood boil in his veins. He was honestly afraid that if Phil moved out of his arms, he would race out that door and do something that he could never take back. Why would anyone want to hurt someone like Phil? Someone with such self-confidence, self-determination, and power should never feel so low as to want to kill themselves. Nobody should.

But Cena stroked Phil's slick black hair and whispered over and over that it was okay, that Phil would be okay, and that he swore to land two punches to Dolph's gut for every time that he had ever hurt Phil. Phil blinked slowly, tears brimming in his eyes, and he felt such relief at the fact that he had finally told someone about the baby and about Dolph. It felt… nice.

"It'll be okay, Phil. It'll all be just… fine." John tried to comfort him, but it didn't really work.

"How do you know?" Phil asked softly.

"Because it'll work out. It always does." John assured him, before the exhaustion finally hit fill and he fell asleep.

* * *

John rolled over on the bed. He hadn't realized that he had fallen asleep, but he couldn't see any other alternative. He looked at the clock. It was almost 12:00 AM. Well, shit. That meant that… John heard the door slide open and the room was bombarded with light from the hallway. Phil didn't even flinch from where he was curled around John on the bed. Slowly, John unraveled Phil's body from around his and climbed out of bed.

Dolph came over, his skin still wet from his recent shower, and his hair glistening with water droplets. From the way that his muscles were tensed, John had no doubt that he was ready to take out another loss on Phil. John's stomach turned at the very idea of it. Before John had fallen asleep, Phil had had a nightmare about the attack that had followed Dolph's loss to Chris at SummerSlam.

Thankfully, Dolph hadn't noticed John's presence in the room. The anger pulsating off of him was the likely reason as to why. John hid in the shadows, unable to run out of the room without being spotted. He crouched down and watched silently.

"Hey, Punk," Dolph hissed loudly. He slapped Phil's head roughly. "Wake up, you pussy. Oh, boo-hoo; you have a concussion? I'm going to make that feel like nothing. It's your fault I lost my match."

"How is it my fault?" Phil managed. His voice sounded raw from his previous crying episode, which surely did nothing to help the pounding headache accompanied with the concussion he already had. He propped himself up into a sitting position. John cringed when Dolph's fist connected with Phil's temple. At that moment, the red-hot anger brewing inside him boiled over. He lurched up and attacked Dolph from behind.

Dolph let out a surprised cry and threw a few random punches into the air. John cracked his fist against Dolph's jaw. He fell onto his hands and knees and spit out blood and pieces of teeth.

"Cena!" Dolph growled angrily, holding his jaw. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"None of your business," John replied with a spit in Dolph's general direction. He turned towards Phil, whose body lay on the bed unconscious.

"Do you get off on that?" John hissed angrily. "Do you feel warm and happy inside when you beat a man down to a pile of broken pieces? Phil had everything going for him until you ripped him down to a shell of his former self. Where in that dye-filled brain is your compassion? Do you even have any?"

Dolph stared back at him, not answering. John grunted, his question having been answered. "I'm taking him with me. If you so much as take one too many steps toward him, I'll call the police on the grounds of you assaulting him."

"And if you take him away from me," Dolph countered with a sly smirk spreading across his face, "I'll tell Vince that he threatened me with a knife."

"There's a difference between the two of you, though, Dolph, in the eyes of the law," John snickered bitterly. "You're in your right frame of mind. He's not. My warning still stands; if I find you anywhere near him, I'll call the cops on your sorry ass."

Without any further talking, John gently lifted Phil into his arms and grabbed his bag and belt before leaving the room in favor of his hotel room.

* * *

"I don't feel well," Phil murmured upon waking up. He didn't remember being taken to the hospital again, but here he was with John at his side. "Why am I here again?"

"Dolph hit your concussed brain pretty bad, so I brought you here as a precaution. Doc says the worst that happened is your concussion will last a couple more days."

"Where is Dolph?" Phil asked, confused.

John smiled guiltily. "I cracked his jaw pretty good. I told him if he came near you I'd call the cops on him. And don't worry – Vince can't fire you in the eyes of the law, as you're not exactly in the right frame of mind yet."

Phil let out a relieved sigh. A huge weight was lifted off his shoulders at this revelation. "Thank you so much, John. Thank you."


	24. Chapter 24

Phil still had a concussion, so he wasn't medically cleared to attend RAW. Still, he found himself handcuffed to John's side (in a less-than-literal sense, of course). John didn't want there to be the smallest chance that Dolph could somehow wheedle his way back into Phil's life, so he made sure that Phil was with him at all times. He had even started to book rooms so that there would be two twin beds instead of one Queen, only for himself.

"You'll have to tell Chris eventually." John said levelly. This was the first time that he had breached the subject with Phil. "He's worried about you, Phil. You owe him the truth, at least."

Phil blinked slowly. His knees where drawn into his chest and he looked like a small ball in the corner of the couch. "I shouldn't be here. That's how I felt the day the baby died. I shouldn't be here. _That_'s how I know it was my fault."

John sighed, falling to his knees in front of the straight-edge star. "It's tragic that you lost that child, Philly. But never, _ever_, make the mistake of thinking that it was your fault. It just wasn't the time, Phil."

Tears rolled down his cheeks, unbidden. He worried his lip ring furiously. "I just want a baby, John."

"I know that you do, Phil. You deserve a child. And you'll have one." John said firmly. "But you can't do that if you don't tell Chris about the mis-,"

Phil choked back a sob. "Please, don't say the word."

John nodded hurriedly. "Of course, Philly. Whatever you want."

"How can I tell him?" Phil wondered aloud sadly. "I've pushed him so far away I don't know if he'll want to come back."

John rubbed his good hand along Phil's arm comfortingly. "Trust me, Phil; he has not forgotten about you. He still loves you with everything in him. Whenever you tell him, he'll be more than ready to have you in his arms again."

Phil sniffled. "I hope you're right."

* * *

Chris hadn't heard from John in a few days. The last time he had talked to John, he sounded like he was holding something from him. Maybe that was just his paranoia; it had grown considerably since all this drama had started.

Chris' phone buzzed. He looked at it, expecting a call from John (or Phil) but only found a junk email filling up his inbox. He looked at his background and sighed. He and Phil looked happy, perfect, and in love in that photo. It was now a distant memory.

"I miss you Philly. I wish I knew how to fix you, fix _us_. I love you with everything in me. I hope Dolph is treating you right," Chris murmured to his phone background sadly. He wiped away the moisture collecting at the edges of his eyes. "You look broken on Raw, too, baby boy. Don't think I didn't notice that."

Chris spent the next half hour looking through photos on his phone and reveling in the memories. His reminiscing was broken by an incoming call from John.

"Hello?" Chris answered.

_"Hey Chris. Just reporting that Phil has another concussion; he should recover from it in a few days,"_ John said. He sounded tired. His voice grew quieter as he continued, _"He's very broken right now, Chris, physically and emotionally. He's with me and recovering slowly. I think he'll be ready to tell you any day now what his problem is. He confided in me, yes, but I can't tell you. You have to hear it from him."_

"I knew you'd push him to that breakthrough, John. Thank you for sticking to your word through all the drama. I really appreciate that more than you know."

_"A man is nothing without his word,"_ John stated plainly. _"I'll talk to you soon, Chris. Hopefully Phil will have told you by then. Hang in there."_

"Thanks, John. Talk to you soon."

* * *

Three days later, the call came.

Chris thought he was dreaming when he saw the name and picture come up on his phone. He answered it and felt his heart fill with love when he heard Phil respond.

"My baby boy, how are you? I've missed you so much, Philly, and I love you so, SO much!"

Phil chuckled quietly into the phone. He sounded like he had just finished crying. _"I've missed you too, Chris. Can I meet up with you like, real soon? I think we need to talk."_

"Of course, baby," Chris responded. "I can be at the venue in two hours. Give me the hotel info and I'll be there before you know it."

_"Actually, you think I can come to you?"_ Phil asked quietly. _"I kinda want to be with you. Alone."_

"Sure, Philly," Chris said. "Here's where I'm staying…"

* * *

Chris stared at the door for two hours straight. Twice he thought he heard knocking at the door to find nothing when he opened it up hurriedly. He stood up and started to pace impatiently.

Within a few minutes, he heard a tentative knock at the door. He flung himself at it and opened it as fast as he could. Sure enough, his baby was on the other side carrying his bags.

Chris grabbed Phil like his life depended on it and hugged him close to his body before lifting him up and securing his arms around his smaller body. He showered Phil's face with kisses and blinked away tears of elation. After several minutes of the long-overdue dose of affection, Chris set Phil down and looked him in the eyes. He was broken, and terribly so.

"My baby…" Chris choked out. Seeing Phil in such pain brought tears to his eyes. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong, Philly boy?"

Phil nodded slowly and refused to look into Chris' eyes again. Chris led them to his bed. He sat on the edge and slowly rubbed Phil's arm while he started crying quietly.

"This all started a few months ago," Phil murmured. He wrapped a loose string from the duvet around his finger until it turned purple. He looked up into Chris' eyes slowly. "When in the same day I got amazing and terrible news."

Chris coaxed him on with his eyes. Phil sighed, exhausted. "I'm so tired, Chris. Can I sleep?"

"Of course, baby," Chris told him lovingly. He kicked his own shoes off and helped Phil into bed before getting into bed himself. "You rest for as long as you need, okay baby? I'm not going anywhere. I love you."

Right before Phil drifted off to sleep, he breathed back, "I love you too."


	25. Chapter 25

Chris shifted Phil's body so that the raven's head rested on his chest and he stroked the soft, clean locks back away from his beloved's face. He looked so serene like this, the look of absolute trust on his unconscious face one that Chris never wanted to exploit. For the first time, Phil didn't seem frustrated and hurt by the entire world. Now, he looked innocent and confused. Phil was confused, but Chris had to wonder what he was confused about.

He continued to stroke Phil's hair slowly, methodically, and he loved the way that Phil mewled and shifted under the careful ministrations. Slowly, his hands continued to trace down the man's delicately muscled body. When they reached the shoulders, he rubbed them a few times and received a grateful moan and a break in the tension there. And so he continued on until his hands reached the hem of Phil's shirt. He pulled it up a little bit and sucked in a harsh breath.

There, near the waistband of Phil's sweats, was a nasty, dark purplish scar. It stretched across the length of his abdomen and bore an uncomfortable resemblance to the scar that one would receive from a D&C. But that couldn't be, could it? Chris knew Phil like the back of his hand. He knew his strengths, his weaknesses, what he loved, and what he hated. Even if Phil didn't tell him, Chris had an uncanny way of just _knowing_ what was on his lover's mind. But not this time.

"Oh, Philly… why didn't you tell me?" A tear streaked down the blond's face as he smoothed his fingers over the raised flesh of Phil's scar. It killed him to see Phil in this kind of condition.

Phil stirred within his dreamland. "_Please, no! I'm so sorry! I'll give you whatever you want! I'll hand over my title! Just don't take my baby, please…"_ Phil screamed. He screamed so loud it was a wonder he didn't wake himself.

Hurriedly, Chris drew Phil into his arms and tenderly rocked him to and fro. "Shh… hush, baby. It's only a dream. Nobody's gonna hurt you. Not Dolph. Not John. Not me. I'll protect you for as long as I'm able, baby."

Eventually, Chris' frantic mutterings somehow managed to lull Phil back into a semi-peaceful slumber. When Chris was sure that he had calmed down, his hands unconsciously returned to the only unintentional wound that marred his lover's skin. And then, his hands started to seek out the wounds that he had caused intentionally. Gingerly, he undid the tape from Phil's wrists and kissed every bloody scar that he found there. He continued this all the way down Phil's body.

And then, he found the last reminder of that terrifying moment when John had told him that Phil had tried to commit suicide. There, on his leg, was a decently sized slash mark that was too deep to be anything but intentional. The stitches were done hastily and would no doubt scar when they were taken out. He could still remember that awful twist in his gut and the immediate reaction that if Phil was dead, well, he wanted to die too. Without Phil, his life was nothing; there wouldn't be a single thing to live for.

Chris continued stroking Phil's short hair slowly until it, too, lulled him to sleep.

* * *

Chris woke before Phil and found him still wrapped up in Phil's arms. With a smile, he bent down and kissed his baby's forehead lovingly. God, had he missed this.

He stared down at Phil's sleeping face for a while longer until he started shifting in Chris' arms. His eyes opened slowly, quickly getting used to the soft light coming in from the window as the sun peeked over the horizon. Chris bent down once again and kissed Phil, this time on the lips. Phil returned the gesture hungrily, but quickly stopped it before it escalated. They both sat up in the bed.

"Baby boy, why didn't you tell me?" Chris whispered. He reached for the hem of Phil's shirt and lifted it so he could rub his thumb along the scar running across his belly. "I would have been there to help you through it, Philly. You wouldn't have had to go through this alone."

"How could I tease you with the idea of having a baby and then forcefully rip it away in the same moment?" Phil choked out, tears forming in his eyes. "It wouldn't have been fair to you."

"No, baby, what's not fair is that you went through this alone," Chris responded. "When John called me and told me you tried to kill yourself-"

"Wait, what do you mean when John called you and told you that?" Phil asked, suddenly suspicious.

Chris smiled down sheepishly. "I was kind of paying him to break through that thick skull of yours since you wouldn't let me."

Phil looked down sadly. Chris stroked his hair again comfortingly. "Anyway, when John called and told me, I felt this feeling run through me. I knew that if you were dead, well, I didn't want to live any longer either."

Phil looked back up with tears falling down his cheeks. Chris brushed them away with his thumb. "Baby, you never stopped loving me, did you?"

"Not for a second," Chris instantly responded. "You are my whole world baby. You always have been and you always will be. Even if you don't feel the same way."

"I never stopped loving you," Phil said quietly. "I never loved Dolph. He-he abused me. I was only hanging around because he had blackmail on me. But now I'm away from him, and back with you…?"

"I'm so glad you're back in my arms," Chris sniffled. He shifted so Phil was now on the bed, where he straddled him.

"What are you doing?" Phil asked curiously. Chris picked up Phil's left arm and started kissing each scar marring his skin, and then did the same with the right, before kissing each and every scar marring his thighs and calves. The last kiss he placed on Phil's intentional scars was the near-fatal one on his thigh. When he looked back up into Phil's eyes, he saw his baby openly crying quietly. Chris brushed away his tears and kissed him slowly on the lips.

"Will you get help for this, angel?" Chris asked him softly. "You've done it before. I know you can do it again?"

Phil shook bodily with his tears, though he nodded through it. "I-I need you by-by my side, baby."

"And I need you by mine. I'm not going to go anywhere, ever, I promise."


	26. Chapter 26

Two weeks later, at Survivor Series, Phil successfully retained his title in a Triple Threat with John Cena and Ryback. He had finally done it. 365 days as the WWE Champion. He drove over two hours just to make it to the hotel where Fozzy was holed up for the night, just to know how proud Chris was of him. That meant the world to him. Chris had loved him when he didn't deserve that love. That meant more to him than respect ever could.

Quickly, he was able to locate Chris' hotel room and slid the keycard in. He stumbled into the warmth, suddenly feeling incredibly lethargic and the pain from the match locked into every bone. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and called out for Chris. Suddenly, Chris came out from the master suite, a broad smile of congratulations on his face. He scooped Phil into his arms and hugged him tight, that smile melting into a frown when he felt how _cold_ he was.

"How long were you outside in the cold, baby?" Chris asked concernedly. Phil shivered, didn't answer, and burrowed further into Chris' welcoming arms. "C'mon, Phil. You need to take a bath and warm up."

Phil's eyes widened and a dark blush spread over his face. "I don't… I don't want to. Then you'll see..." Then he would see all of the scars that Dolph had left on him and he would be disgusted and not want Phil anymore…

"I'll see what, baby?" Chris pushed gently. He hadn't forced anything out of Phil before he was ready to tell him for fear Phil would leave him again. "You can tell me."

"You'll see my nasty, disgusting scars," Phil sighed tiredly.

"They're not nasty, Philly. I've seen them already, remember?"

Still, Phil shook his head. "Just need some sleep…"

Chris led Phil to his bed and got him comfortable. He found every blanket he could and wrapped Phil in them to keep him warm.

"Lay with me," Phil whined, half-asleep already. Chris got into the bed with the younger man and wrapped him in his arms. He felt Phil warming up considerably already.

"Goodnight, angel. I love you," Chris murmured into Phil's hair.

* * *

Phil woke long before Chris did. Being wrapped up in the older man's arms comforted Phil. He was extremely sore from his grueling match the previous night. With a proud smile, he remembered how he had come out successful in the match. One year as the WWE Champion.

_And nearly four months since the miscarriage,_ he reminded himself sadly. His breath caught in his throat as he, embarrassingly, started to cry. He wanted a child so badly.

Phil's attempt at silencing his tears failed. Chris started to stir around him. He instantly recognized what the noise coming from Phil was.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Chris asked gently. He rolled Phil around so he could look into his eyes. His emerald orbs were shrouded by tears and grief.

"I want a baby," he managed emotionally.

"Shh, Phil, it's alright," Chris murmured soothingly. He pulled Phil to his chest and rubbed his back comfortingly. "Don't cry, baby boy. Everything's okay."

Once Phil had successfully cried himself out, Chris pulled his head away slightly so he could look into his eyes. "Are you okay, baby?"

Phil nodded weakly, sadness still spread across his eyes. "Chris?"

"Hm?" Chris responded while running his fingers through Phil's short hair.

"Do you want a child?" he asked quietly.

Chris suddenly took Phil's face in his hands. "I would love to have a child with you, Philly. But we have other things to deal with before we can bring a child into our lives."

A look of confusion spread across Phil's face. Chris gently tapped the near-fatal wound on Phil's thigh. Phil was somewhat surprised that Chris knew the exact location, despite it being covered by Phil's pants.

"What do I have to do about it?" Phil mumbled with a hint of stubbornness laced in his tone.

"I'd like you to enter into an in-patient treatment center," Chris said gently.

Phil narrowed his eyes a bit angrily. "Sure, I've just made it a year as champion to have to give it up, is that it? Why can't I do out-patient?"

"You tried to kill yourself," Chris murmured softly. Emotion weaved its way into his voice as he continued. "I don't know what I'd do with my life without you, Phil. You _are_ my life."

"I'm not gonna try to kill myself again. And I'm not gonna vacate the title. Out-patient or nothing at all."

"Well, at least you're agreeing to something," Chris muttered under his breath. "Fine, just do it soon, please."

"And then we can have a baby?" Phil asked, hopeful.

"We can have all the babies we want," Chris answered with a smile.


	27. Chapter 27

Chris awoke to find Phil's side of the bed vacant. A rush of terror washed over him and for one horrific moment, he worried that it had all been one beautifully cruel dream. "Phil? Phil, baby? Where are you?"

He didn't receive an answer. Chris' heart sank as he looked around the room, a look of absolute dread in his eyes as he realized that Phil had taken all of his stuff as well. The other side of the bed had been neatly made and on the white cloth sheet, there was a small note with blood smeared on the side of it. If Chris felt like he was about to be sick before, now that sensation had morphed into absolute mortification. Phil couldn't… He wouldn't…

On instinct alone, he reached into the bedside table and took out the knife that Phil had used to inflict the wounds on himself. He knew that, if Phil was determined to commit the bloody crime, he would find another instrument to harm himself with, but for some reason, it made him feel better to know where the knife was at all times. His blue eyes scanned the blade. There wasn't a hint of blood on it, which meant Phil hadn't cut himself.

**_Dear Chris,_**

**_I called John this morning. I told him about our conversation last night, how we both agreed on the fact that I need professional help. I've come to realize that I'm not exactly comfortable with all that that entails, but like you said, I've beaten this condition once. I can do it a second time. That's the reason I called John. He'll be here around 6:00 AM to take me down to the Chicago Crisis Center. The doctor there will evaluate my condition._**

**_I just wanted you to realize that all of this… I'm taking it very seriously. Maybe I acted like it was my health, my life, my business before… but when you held me like that, kissed all of my scars… I don't know how to say it, Chris. I've never been a 'romantic' kind of guy. But, I guess what I'm trying to say is that you showed me that my life, it's worth something to you. If I'm not there, you're not either. Nobody's ever cared that deeply for me before._**

**_Chris, I want you to know that I love you. I'm a man and a man can admit when he's wrong, and I was wrong to treat you like that. This was your baby too and I should have told you about him/her. You deserved to know. I guess what I'm trying to say is that… I really want a baby, Chris. And after all of this is over, and I am _****still****_ the WWE Champion… I hope that we can have a lot of them. Until then, I'll see you soon._**

**_Phil_**

Chris didn't miss the fact that Phil had chosen to completely scale over the blood on the note, but he chose to ignore it for the time being. Instead, he took his phone out and dialed Shawn's number. "Shawn?"

_"What is it?"_ The copper-blond asked, impatient. He leaned away from the receiver and shouted at his husband on the other end of the line. _"Watch where you step on that thing! I can't have you break your _other_ arm!"_

"Shawn?" Chris called his attention back to the matter at hand. "We need to talk. It's urgent." Shawn mumbled for him to continue. "It's about his job security now that we've discovered his little… issue."

Shawn was silent for a moment. _"Okay, kid. C'mon over in about an hour. Hunter should be done tearing the house down by then, anyhow."_

Chris smiled. "Thanks, Shawn. You don't know how much this means to me."

_"Don't mention it, kid."_ And then the copper-blond ended the call.

* * *

"I would like you to tell me about what caused your relapse, Phil." A tense, uncomfortable silence filled the air. "I understand that this may be difficult for you to do, but -,"

Phil cut him off. "Yes, it is difficult. But I also promised myself and my lover that I would do this. I can't exactly back out now, can I?" He didn't mean to snap, but all of the emotion within him was overwhelming.

The doctor nodded kindly. "Of course, Mr. Brooks. I didn't mean to offend you."

"You didn't offend me." Phil bit back. He wanted as much control as possible in this.

She scribbled a few notes down onto her chart. "Where would you like to start, Mr. Brooks?"

"The beginning is always a _wonderful_ place to start, don't you think?" Phil took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm taking my emotion and projecting it onto you because I can't deal with it myself."

An obnoxious and rather unprofessional eyebrow raise almost made him break down into fits of laughter. "Well, I'm impressed that you can see that for yourself. That makes my job a whole lot easier."

"Of course – because we're all here to make your job easier." Phil muttered underneath his breath.

"What was that?" The doctor asked. Both knew that she had heard every word.

"Nothing." Phil offered an unsettling smile.

She nodded, humming to herself. She took out a journal and marked down his name and date of birth. "Okay, I think I've formed a basic behavioral profile now. Would you care to tell me about the incident?"

No, he wouldn't _care_ to tell her about the incident, but what choice did he have? Chris had given him a rather nasty ultimatum. If he didn't do the out-patient care, then Chris would force him into in-patient care. And then, his 365 days as WWE Champion _really_ wouldn't matter. None of it would matter anymore, because all anyone would remember about him was the fact that he had had a break from reality and thought his belt was an actual baby.

But, despite how uncomfortable he was with the whole mess, he told her the story. He started from the very beginning, which, as he mentioned earlier, was always the best place to start. He told her how a mammoth wrestler more than twice his size had sent a friend of his flying across the announce table and knocked him out of his chair. That was when he had lost the baby and his entire world turned upside down.

From there, he proceeded to think that his belt _was_ his baby. He threatened a man with a knife, thinking that he was trying to take away his job and thus steal his baby from him. And now that he said all of this out loud, he realized how silly it all seemed. But the delusion was still there, and so was the pain. His doctor could see it in his eyes and he could _feel_ it in his heart. It made him more than a little uneasy. What if he relapsed?

"I think that you're suffering from a rather extreme case of manic depression. I'm going to prescribe Haldol and Wellbutrin, which are both anti-psychotic medications. Both are very powerful, but I think you'll need them."

Phil looked at her skeptically, before he took the scripts from her hand. "Thanks, doc."


	28. Chapter 28

An hour later, Chris was at Shawn and Hunter's house. He noticed a rather nasty hole in the wall, which looked like it had been beaten in with a hammer. When he motioned to it, Shawn only shook his head. Hunter, on the other hand, made abrupt gestures that implied the matter was to be dropped immediately. Chris, not wanting to cause another lover's tiff between the two, dropped it before it became a hot issue.

Shawn sat him down at the table and made him some coffee. Hunter only came out a few minutes later, sporting a fancy brace on his arm. He tried to make it seem as if it was nothing, but it was clear that he was badly hurt and there was possibility for long-term injury. Hunter sat down at the table, accepting the coffee that Shawn offered him with a smile. Shawn tenderly smacked him over the head, before he ruffled his hair and walked off.

"So, what was it that you wanted to discuss about Phil?" Hunter asked. It was clear that Shawn had briefed him on Chris' problems before he had arrived.

"Before Phil successfully retained his title at Survivor Series, I had a talk with Vince. Vince said that all of this is just build-up to Dwayne's return at the Royal Rumble. Dwayne will take the title from him. Is that true?"

Hunter was silent for a moment. Different emotions flickered in his hazel eyes, before he nodded. "Yes, that's true. Dwayne will be the one to end Phil's reign as the WWE Champion."

"What happens to Phil then?" Chris asked. "Without his championship contract, he's easily disposable. Combine that to the combustible element of his loss, and it would be cataclysmic."

"Chris," Hunter began lightly, "Phil is one of the most important men on the roster right now, and he's going to remain that way for quite some time. His job won't be in jeopardy."

Chris sighed. "While that might be true, I don't know how he's going to handle losing the title. He's in out-patient care right now. He could easily relapse."

"We'll just have to keep a close eye on him, then," Hunter told him. "He's gotten over the fact that the title is his 'baby' right?"

Chris nodded. "But that doesn't mean this won't spur a relapse, is what I'm getting at. His job is secure?"

"Very," Hunter assured him.

"I just hope that will be enough to keep him sane."

* * *

Royal Rumble '13

Phil rolled his shoulders slowly, trying to ease the tension out of his muscles. He looked down at his body and admired how his cuts were all either scabbed or becoming actual scars. Only a few days ago, he had finished out-patient care. He felt more in control of himself than he had in a long time. While he was still on Haldol and Wellbutrin, he no longer had to go to counseling.

Phil looked up at the monitor on the far wall in the locker room. His title belt sat on his lap, a slight weight that reminded him how far he'd gotten – 434 days as champion.

_And counting_, he thought. Once he beat The Rock tonight, it would be 435.

In front of him, the Rumble match was just beginning. Dolph Ziggler entered the ring. The crowd sat on edge waiting for the next entrant. The screen grew black, before a blast of pyro erupted and a very familiar theme song started to play. Phil nearly choked on air when he realized it was Chris making his way to the ring – _Chris! _When did he decide he was going to return to the WWE?!

Phil watched the match, slightly dazed, until a stagehand ran in and told him he had five minutes until his match. He grabbed his belt and shook his head, still a little stunned that Chris decided to return without even mentioning it to him. He found Paul Heyman waiting at the guerilla position for him.

"Ready for your match, kid?" Paul asked, taking his belt.

"Of course I am. How about, y'know…?"

Paul nodded his head. "They're set. Don't worry, Punk. This match is yours."

Phil nodded his head in thanks. Once John Cena made his way backstage with a slight nod of the head in his direction, Phil waited anxiously for his song to start. When it did, he, alongside Paul, started making his way to the ring.

The Rock came out shortly afterwards. The crowd went wild. Phil rolled his hands a few times to warm them up before the bell rang.

After a while of fighting, and both men were exhausted, the lights suddenly cut out. Phil hung back as planned while The Shield attacked The Rock. Once the lights came back on, Rock was laying on the broken announce table. Phil scurried out of the ring, rolled Rock into the ring, and pinned him for the 3-count. The bell rang, and he raised his hands in victory. However, his celebration was cut short by the sound of Mr. McMahon's theme song.

"CM Punk, I told you if The Shield interfered in your match, then The Rock would become champion. I know the lights were out, but I'm not dumb. Furthermore, I now announce your _new_ champion-"

"Hold on, hold on," The Rock gasped into his microphone. Phil's head started to spin. "I want to earn that belt. Mr. McMahon, could you restart the match instead?"

Mr. McMahon nodded, and signaled to the referee to ring the bell. Phil, stunned, didn't know what to do. Before he knew what was happening, The Rock had given him a spinebuster, The People's Elbow, and had him pinned for the 3-count. The Rock's theme song was being played, and Paul Heyman was ushering him out of the ring and down the ramp.

He had just _lost_. That wasn't supposed to happen. Why did Dwayne take his title belt? He was supposed to be champion. The Shield was hired to make sure that happened!

Once behind the curtain, Phil shed Heyman and made his way to the locker room, tears bubbling at the surface of his eyes. He grabbed his bag hurriedly and ran to the showers. The one all the way at the end was unoccupied, so he dragged his bag and his exhausted body there. With a heaving sob, he fumbled in his bag for his razor. He had been using it for shaving lately, but now it was going to serve another purpose. Phil blasted the water as hot as it would go, and with tears freely flowing down his face, he slid down the wall and cut his calf and wrists. He watched the blood flow down the drain with blurry eyes until he was too weak to keep his eyelids open any longer.


	29. Chapter 29

Phil woke up with a start to the sensation of water with an arctic temperature hitting his skin. He shivered violently and twisted around to turn the shower head off. He dragged himself out of the stall and got to his feet unsteadily before making his way to where the towels were stored. They were sorted according to their size and color. Phil grabbed a large green towel from the piles and wrapped it around his waist before inspecting his face in the mirror. He looked even more exhausted than usual, and couldn't exactly remember why.

Then it hit him, hard.

He gripped onto the sink and started gasping for air once he remembered what The Rock had done to him, how he had publically humiliated him in front of thousands of people. He looked down at his wrist and saw a fresh wound marked into his skin.

"Fuck," he hissed, "all that fucking rehab for nothing. I'm such a waste of a human being."

He let go of the sink and started walking unsteadily back to the shower stall where his bag sat right outside of. Once he had it in his hands, he grabbed some clothes and quickly changed. He couldn't find his damn sweatshirt, though. Then he remembered he had left it in the locker room.

"Dammit," he grunted. He slung his bag around his shoulder and made his way to the locker room. He kept his arms crossed so the cut on his wrist wasn't visible. His heart sank when he entered the locker room and found Dolph gathering his things together. Phil avoided eye contact and tried to be as quiet as possible, but Dolph still noticed him.

"Hey, Phil," Dolph said a little uneasily. He was clearly still terrified of what John might do to him if he found him trying to talk to the tattooed superstar. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," Phil muttered, looking around for his sweatshirt. He refused to make eye contact with the Show Off.

"Look, I'm really sorry about how much of an ass I was to you," Dolph began. He was suddenly standing right in front of Phil. "I realize now that I was ridiculous. I really hope you'll forgive me."

"Go to hell," he spit in Dolph's face. Dolph grabbed Phil's hands, much to his protest, and found his eyes widening once he noticed the dried blood and the fresh wound on his wrist.

"I-I thought you were getting help for this," Dolph whispered. "I thought you were all better."

"I'm fine," Phil snapped. "I just had one slip up. It's not going to happen again."

Still, Dolph held onto Phil's hands. Phil finally relented and looked into Dolph's eyes. When he did and saw the concern swimming in the other man's eyes, he broke down and started to cry. Dolph pulled him in to his chest.

"Shh, Phil, it's okay," he whispered, stroking Phil's head. "You're going to be alright, Philly. We're going to go find Chris, and he'll make you all better."

Phil suddenly pulled himself back and looked at Dolph with wide eyes. "No, Dolph, please! You can't tell Chris, Dolph; he's so proud of me for beating this illness. You can't make him disappointed in me. Please don't tell him, _please_."

Phil Brooks wasn't a man to beg, nor make his private problems public. When Dolph heard Phil crying and begging not to tell Chris, he knew he couldn't, even if it went against his better judgment. So instead he pulled Phil in for another soothing hug and promised he would not tell Chris a thing, so long as he kept him updated on how he was doing. With nothing else to do, Phil had to agree.

* * *

Phil looked around the room warily, afraid that someone would materialize out of the shadows and find out the terrible secret that he had concealed underneath his GTS hoodie. He walked out of the elevator with a calm, collected stride, trying to make it seem as if nothing was wrong. Not that there was anyone around to see, either way. Biting down on the inside of his mouth, he stuffed his hand into the pocket of his sweatshirt and grabbed the hotel key. He swiped it once, waited for the light to turn green, and then entered inside.

Chris was already knocked out on the bed, which Phil was thankful for. He didn't know what he would do if Chris saw him like this. He was so proud of him and… he didn't even want to think about it. Immediately, he made a beeline for the bathroom. As soon as the door was closed and locked behind him, he took off the hoodie and tossed it in the direction of the shower. Next came the shirt. Finally, he took a washcloth and wet it with cold water. He would need to clean up the mess if he wanted to sell himself as stable.

Gently, he scrubbed at the bloody area. He had to be careful not to reopen the wound because they didn't have any medical supplies, and Chris would definitely be able to tell that something was wrong if he woke up and found that the bed was soaked with blood. Once the area around the actual wound was clean, he took a finger-full of hand sanitizer and dabbed it in. It hurt like a bitch, but he didn't need an infection and they didn't have any medical disinfectant. This was the next best thing. And maybe it was a little bit of a punishment too.

He couldn't believe that he had allowed himself to be so weak. Chris loved him, Chris _believed_ in him, and instead of showing him how much he could thrive under that love and affection, he had turned around and allowed himself to relapse. Since when had a title meant life or death? He could still remember the feeling of losing his baby, still remember the hazy delusion he had been in when the title _was_ his baby, but he couldn't remember when he had first made that decision to _hurt_ himself. He could only hope that Dolph would keep his mouth shut.

Once the pain subsided, he dressed in his pajamas and went back into the bedroom. He slid into bed beside Chris, making sure to keep his still throbbing arm out of Chris' line-of-sight. Chris moaned, rolling over and taking him into his arms, "Mmm, g'night baby."

Phil sniffled, thinking of the gigantic lie that he was keeping from Chris. Could they survive any more lies? "Goodnight, Chris."

"I love you, Philly." He said. Even mostly asleep, his words were coherent and they rang true.

Phil almost couldn't say it, but in the end, forced it out. "I love you too, Chris. I love you too."


	30. Chapter 30

Phil wasn't there when Chris awoke the next morning. That alone was disconcerting, considering the fact that he had expected Phil to be excited about his return. He hadn't told anyone about his return, not even Phil, and he had been anxious to find out how his baby would react. Unfortunately, he had been forced to leave before Phil's title match against Dwayne and he didn't know the outcome. By the time Phil had come back to the hotel room, both had been too exhausted to chat anyhow.

Chris rolled over, feeling the sheets where Phil had once lain to see if Phil had left recently. The sheets were icy cold and the bed was neatly made. Chris squeezed his eyes closed, trying to remember if he could feel Phil leave the bed at some point during the night. He couldn't. Sucking in a harsh breath, he tossed the blankets off of him and slid off the bed. He ruffled his hair and stretched, the muscles in his back crying out in agony. The massage could wait, however.

He took his phone off the bedside table. There was one message, sent about five minutes before Phil had arrived last night. It was from John: _Phil lost the title to Dwayne. And I think that it's sent him over the edge._

* * *

Paul looked at his client, watching as he clawed at his newly bandaged arm. "You know that I hate to stick my nose where it isn't welcome…" Paul trailed off.

Phil's olive eyes flickered upward. "Oh, really? You're so good at it. I never would have guessed."

"I'll let that one slide." Paul said, making a small 'tsk' with his tongue. "But, as your manager, and your lawyer, I have to ask… did you cut yourself, Phil?"

Phil narrowed his eyes at Paul, feeling ruby droplets of fresh blood bubble to the surface of his arm. "No."

Paul shook his head. "You're not a very good liar, kid. I could see it in your eyes." He scoffed. "You'll have to work on that poker face." Paul started to pace back and forth. "I mean, why would you do it? Why would you hurt yourself?"

Blearily, Phil remembered the broken razor, the shower stall, the blood… He chased those memories from his head. "I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't cut myself."

Paul wasn't convinced. "Then why is the cut straight? If it was unintentional, it would be jagged." He said.

Phil let the tension overflow and his nails bit down into the sensitive, injured flesh. He hissed, letting out a violent string of curses as blood poured over his fingers. Thankful that Heyman wasn't watching, he wrapped it in his towel and held it firmly in his lap. He didn't need anyone else worrying over him. He didn't need to disappoint anyone else. Phil was happy with Chris, and they were so close, _so close_ to starting a family. He couldn't risk it by going public with his screw up.

Seeing he wasn't going to get a response from Phil anytime soon, Paul sighed. "Forget about it. That's not the important thing here. As you know, you have your rematch clause for the belt still. You could use that tonight to get your belt back. I'll keep The Shield out of the way so Vince can't do anything when you win, again, tonight."

"Sounds like a good idea," Phil said, somewhat distracted. He picked at the medical tape keeping the gauze on his cut until the edges started to fray. He rewrapped the towel around his wrist to cover the bloody mess.

"See you tonight, then, kid. Don't… injure yourself further, okay?"

Phil stared at his lap as Paul Heyman walked away. Once he was gone, he let out a long sigh and left the room. Consequently, he happened to bump right into John Cena.

The Cenation leader gave him a smile, before his eyes trailed down to Phil's towel-covered wrist. Instantly, his smile fell.

"It's nothing," Phil immediately said. "I scratched myself on the table in there. I'm fine, I swear."

"Are you sure you're fine?" John asked gently. "I know how much that belt meant to you…"

"And I'm getting it back tonight. Don't worry about it, Cena. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be."

And with that, Phil pushed right past Cena. John stared at Phil jogging away with a concerned expression set on his face, knowing that Phil must be broken inside again.

* * *

The bell rang, signaling the end of the match, and the exhausted man held up his belt with a smile on his face. His theme song sounded, and the audience rose to their feet and cheered. The loser rolled out of the ring while the winner gloated in the spotlight. Once he fell from the ring, he scurried backstage with tears threatening to fall down his face.

Phil was surprised to see Chris waiting for him backstage. He immediately ran to him and grabbed him in his strong arms.

"You did a great job, baby," Chris whispered to him.

"No I didn't," Phil said into Chris' shoulder. His voice was muffled by his shirt. "I lost. The Rock is better than me. No matter how hard I train, how hard I whoop his ass in that ring, he always finds a way to beat me. I'm a failure."

"No you're not, baby-boy," Chris assured him.

Not convinced in the slightest, Phil allowed Chris to pull him along to the locker room so he could get changed. Phil couldn't think about anything other than the fact he lost again. He was losing his touch. Hell, he'd been going nonstop for a few years now. No matter how hard he trained, he just couldn't get strong enough.

"I've got your stuff right here," Chris said, stirring Phil from his thoughts. He grabbed his GTS sweatshirt and put it on, immediately followed by a pair of track pants. "Are you ready to go now?"

Phil nodded. Suddenly, he felt himself being lifted off his feet. His hands scrambled in the air for a moment before he realized Chris was holding him bridal-style. His arms wrapped around Chris' neck, and he buried his face into his love's chest. He just wished the pain could be taken away with a simple touch from Chris, but he knew that was impossible. With a sigh, he shut his eyes and let Chris carry him to their rental car so they could go to the hotel and sleep.


	31. Chapter 31

As the weeks flew by, Phil started to cut himself a little bit more each day. He started with chicken scratches the first week, and then the next few weeks looked like cat scratches. Now they were starting to look like little incision lines. They didn't bleed much, but they stung. The pain filled Phil with comforting warmth that he had lost since his title had been ripped from his hands.

Chris was pretty oblivious to Phil's slow decline. He was busy trying to wipe that smug fucking smirk off of Fandango's face.

Phil, suffering a momentary lapse in mental judgment, decided to call The Undertaker out and challenge him. Like 20 other men had promised in the past, Phil promised to end Mark's streak.

Paul Heyman and Phil were sitting in the locker room discussing strategies when a solemn looking Alex Riley came in with tears in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Kofi, who was sitting several feet away from the duo, asked of the younger man.

"Paul Bearer died."

While Kofi went to the young wrestler's side, Paul leaned into Phil's ear.

"This is great! Well, his death isn't, but we can use the death as a taunt to make Mark fight you at WrestleMania."

"That's a little wrong, don't you think?" Phil asked warily. When he noticed Paul was serious, he sighed. "Never mind. How do you suggest we incorporate this into my promos?"

Paul thought for only a moment before he perked up and a smile spread across his round cheeks. "I could take the sacred urn when nobody is watching! Man, I'm a genius. Then you can disrespect it and keep it from Mark. He'll want to rip your throat out then. No doubt Vince is going to have a memorial segment on Raw. We could have you crash it and show Mark that you've stolen the urn."

Phil wanted to roll his eyes. Challenging The Undertaker was one thing, but disrespecting Paul Bearer's death? He shook his head slowly, knowing he had no choice but to agree with his manager.

"It's settled, then. I'll go talk to Creative."

* * *

Chris was reeling from his loss against Fandango in the grandest stage of them all when he wished his baby luck in his match. Though he had complete faith in his boy, he knew deep in his heart that Phil wouldn't end the streak. Despite that, though, he watched his match intently and was on the edge of his seat throughout the entire battle. When Mark finally won, Chris hung his head sadly before popping back up and waiting for Phil to crawl backstage.

Chris waited a few minutes before he saw Phil's body limping into guerilla. He was clutching his side and favoring his right leg. Chris rushed to his side and hooked his right arm around his shoulders and helping him through the arena.

"You did a wonderful job, baby boy," Chris murmured to him. Phil said nothing. The only noises he made were panting and soft grunts of pain. Chris led him to the trainer. He sat in a chair watching as Phil's body was inspected.

"Definitely looks like a bruised rib there, Punk," he informed him. "As for the leg, I'd visit a doctor about that one. You might have strained or tore a muscle."

"Should I just bring him back to the hotel?" Chris asked worriedly. The trainer nodded, and Chris gathered his Philly in his arms gently and brought them both back to the hotel.

* * *

Phil woke up the next morning sore as hell. He groaned softly and quietly got out of bed and locked himself in the bathroom. He looked around for a moment before finding his razor. He slid the waistband of his boxers down slightly and made one nice, long, clean cut on his hip. Instantly bright blood poked to the surface and gently pooled into small bubbles, which dribbled down his leg some. He wiped at it with toilet paper, mesmerized at how the blood kept filling the line and falling over the edge.

A knock sounded on the door, making Phil jump a foot in the air and also sent the razor flying across the room. Thankfully, it landed on the soft bathmat.

"Are you okay in there?" Chris asked tiredly.

"Yeah, just going to the bathroom," Phil lied with ease. "I'll be out soon."

"Okay," Chris answered. He listened as Chris shuffled across the room and presumably collapsed on the bed.

"I'm a failure," Phil whispered to himself. "Everything I do in WWE is wrong nowadays. I need a break. I need to stop cutting, too. Chris won't want a baby if I'm cutting again."

Knowing that Chris would soon grow suspicious if he took much longer, he stood, applying slight pressure with the already soaked compress to ensure that he didn't bleed out, and made his way over to the medicine cabinet. After fishing around for a few minutes, he found a pack of individually wrapped gauze and some tape. Throwing the bloody toilet paper into the toilet, he fumbled with the package of gauze until finally, he was holding the soft, white cloth in his hand. He put it over his wound and taped it neatly.

He washed his hands and put everything away, flushing the toilet to send the last remnants of his weakness down the drain. Once he was sure that there was nothing in the bathroom that Chris would find out of the ordinary, he opened the door and turned out the light. Chris was waiting for him on the bed, casually reading the list of tweets sent out during WrestleMania. As it turned out, Triple H had gotten burned rather severely. It was the result of dry ice that had gotten stuck to his skin.

"You're back." Chris flashed his lover a winning smile, before making some extra room on the bed for him. Phil sat down gingerly, not wanting to aggravate his wound and make it bleed through the cotton pad. "You okay, sweetie? You look a little sick."

Phil shrugged. "I just feel a little off, that's all. I might have a concussion or something. The medic said I was pretty messed up, after all." He tried to laugh at his apparent joke, but it hurt to think of himself as 'messed up' – or, worse, to think that _Chris_ thought that way.

Chris leaned over and kissed Phil's temple tenderly, not wanting to further aggravate his lover's apparent 'injury'. He wasn't entirely convinced that that was what was off about his baby boy. "I'll make an appointment as soon as they're open."

Phil, surprised that the doctor's office wasn't open yet, asked, "What time is it?"

"It's five forty-five in the morning, baby. That's why I was so surprised that you were awake. Usually, when you sleep, you sack out."

Chris searched for Phil's eyes, but Phil wouldn't meet them. "Guess I just have a lot on my mind, that's all."

"That's understandable. You just had a career-changing match yesterday. Anyone would need a little bit of time to take all that in." Chris said. "Why don't you try and get some sleep, and I'll take a shower, hmm?"

"Sounds fine by me." Phil answered dismissively, his tone a touch darker than usual.

Chris shot him one last concerned look, before he just brushed it off. He couldn't push Phil. He'd learned that the hard way. He didn't think that he could survive if he lost Phil at this point. Phil was his world and soon, they'd be starting a family. Life couldn't be more perfect. And if Phil was bottling something up inside, Chris was confident that Phil would tell him when the time was right. So he leaned down, kissed his baby's forehead, and then made a beeline for the bathroom. He was totally oblivious to the way Phil broke down as soon as he was gone.

* * *

"Oh, God, Philly…" Chris stared into the bathroom mirror, absolutely mesmerized by what he saw. Phil had neglected to clean off the corner of the medicine cabinet, which was streaked bright red with fresh blood. It also dotted the floor in small drops.

Chris went through every possible option, trying to think of any reasonable explanation for this. But he wasn't thinking rationally. His first thought was that maybe Phil had miscarried again, but no, that wasn't possible, as they hadn't had sex and he didn't think that Dolph… and then, oh God, what if he had lost _Dolph's_ baby? But no, Phil would have told him that. Phil wouldn't have risked the match with Mark if he had known. He wasn't sure if Phil was stable enough right now to handle another loss like that.

And then, maybe Mark had hurt him worse than the doctor had originally thought. Maybe Phil was hurt and Chris had been none the wiser. It made him feel sick just to think about it. But then, again, he realized that Phil would have bitched about it by now. Which left only one other explanation. It was the one that he had been dreading from the start. The blood-stained note. The way he had started to withdraw into himself again. The loss of the title belt had absolutely destroyed him and he had started to hurt himself again.

"Phil…" Chris turned around, peering out the crack of open door and looking at the bed where Phil lay. But he was already asleep.


	32. Chapter 32

Phil woke up to light shining through his eyelids and a steady movement underneath him. He gingerly cracked open his eyes, blinking away the brightness, and took in his surroundings. He was in the passenger seat and Chris was driving in their rental.

"Where are we going?" Phil asked groggily. He yawned and covered his eyes with his forearm.

"Wow, you really must have been out," Chris snorted lightly. "I thought you were awake when we left the hotel and started driving. We're going to the doctor for your appointment. It's almost one now."

"I slept until one?" Phil asked with exhausted surprise.

"Yes," Chris answered. Without looking, Phil could tell the corners of his lips had curled up into that smirk that he loved with everything in him. He couldn't help himself, and found himself smiling into the material of his hoodie.

"What are they going to do to me?" Phil asked.

"They're probably going to check your head to see if your brain got knocked around your skull a bit. How are your legs? You didn't hurt them too badly last night, did you?"

"They feel fine," Phil said quietly. He found himself starting to fall asleep again, but instead forced his eyes open despite the blinding light hurting his eyes. He yawned and gave himself a shake. That was all that was needed to wake him up.

Soon enough, they pulled up in front of the doctor's office and parked near the building. Chris waited for Phil while he got out of the car, and the two went inside. While Chris went to take a seat, Phil checked himself in.

"Hi, Mr. Brooks. Dr. Albright will see you soon," he said with a smile.

With a nod, Phil went back into the waiting room and sat next to Chris. He rested his tired head in the crook of Chris' neck and the two waited in a comfortable silence. Chris skimmed through a magazine while Phil traced patterns in the wall with his eyes.

"Phil?" a nurse called from the doorway. He stood up and followed her, but not without giving Chris a smile before he went. Once inside the exam room, the young nurse started to take his vitals.

"What brings you in today, Phil?" she asked while feeling his pulse.

"I was in a brutal match last night and I think I might be concussed," he said. "My whole body is sore, but that's to be expected."

She wrote in his file for a few moments before closing it and giving him a smile. "Dr. Albright will be in shortly. He'll check to see if you have a concussion."

"Thanks, hon," he said with a friendly smile. She returned the gesture before shutting the door behind herself.

Phil didn't have to wait long before the doctor knocked on the door and let himself in. A middle-aged man with fine lines pressed into his dark skin and gray hairs growing sparse in his black hair entered the room with a friendly smile.

"How are we today, Phil?" he asked in a deep, welcoming voice.

"I think I have a concussion," he answered. The doctor made him feel at ease, and any nervousness coursing through his body vanished.

"Well, let's see if your suspicion is true," he said. He set Phil's file down and opened a drawer. He took out a thin flashlight and shone it into Phil's eyes.

"That's a good sign. No brain bleeding or swelling. Let's make sure that you don't have a concussion."

He performed a few simple tests on Phil which included a vision test, hearing test, coordination and balance test, and a strength test. Phil had no trouble with any of them.

"Well, Phil, I don't think you have a concussion," he said. "However, if you start to feel nauseous or have any sort of memory problems in the next few days, I'd head over to the emergency room for a scan, okay? For now, I want you to get some rest, so please don't fight tonight."

"Okay," Phil promised. He shook the doctor's hand and left the room and rejoined his baby in the waiting room. Chris pulled him into a hug and asked how he was.

"No concussion. I can't fight tonight and have to rest for a few days. If I get any worse, I have to go to the ER to be brain scanned," he informed him. He gave him a kiss on the lips, first quick, then another lingering, and finally another quick one. "Come on, we have to get to the next venue so you can make it to RAW on time."

* * *

Phil watched as his manager stalked back and forth in an uncomfortable pattern. After Lesnar had lost to Triple H at WrestleMania, Paul had been frantically waiting for the other shoe to drop. Surprisingly, Lesnar was not at all put out by the loss. In fact, as Paul informed him, he would even go so far as to say that he was _impressed_ by Triple H's ability to overcome. That wasn't the problem. Apparently, Lesnar wanted to challenge Triple H to yet another match in order to 'break the tie'. It would be a steel cage match.

Phil was the perfect audience, simply allowing his manager to vent without a word. Paul then switched gears, ranting on about how he had lost his favor with the Shield and once Vince got around to remembering that Paul was the one who had bribed them (because, after all, Vince had an elephant's memory), the shit would really hit the fan. Phil was listening, but at the same time, he was more focused on the confrontation between Chris and Fandango. He was thinking about his loss at WrestleMania and what it would mean for his career.

"Paul?" He turned to his manager, who suddenly broke from his tirade to focus his full attention on the young Straight-Edge Star.

"What is it, kid?" Paul, sweating heavily, plopped down onto the nearest sofa, breathing heavily.

"If I were to... go away for a little while, what do you think that it would do to my career?" Phil asked. He was stroking his hip, hissing slightly when he pressed just a little too hard. "Would anyone miss me, Paul?"

Paul swallowed hard, the grave note in the boy's voice not going unnoticed. "What exactly do you mean, kid? This wouldn't have anything to do with those cuts I saw earlier... would it?" Paul asked, pressing into dangerous territory.

"You didn't answer my question." Phil pointed out gravely. He was digging his short, blunt nails into his palms.

"Phil..." Paul could see the signs and he was worried, worried for the talent he could be losing and for the person that was in danger.

_"Answer it!"_ Phil was positively screaming now. There was no doubt that he had alerted some of the workers outside in the hallway. "Please... just... answer me. I need to know. If only... for a little while."

Paul didn't know what to say, and could only force out, "I would miss you, Phil."

Phil swallowed hard, squeezing his hands so hard that he burst the stitches on his wrists. Blood bubbled past the surface of the tape. "That's one person, at least."


	33. Chapter 33

Chris was positively fuming after his match with Fandango, and the anger manifested within him was practically rolling off of him in _waves_. He couldn't believe that that sniveling little brat thought that he could just come out of nowhere and try to take away what rightfully belonged to Chris. Next thing he knew, he would blink and the little punk would be dancing his way over to Phil! Oh, _hell no_. Trembling hands clenched into fists at his sides. He would knock that little prick six ways to Sunday before he let him, or anyone else, touch _his_ Phil. Phil was just beginning to get over the miscarriage and -

But then he stopped. The anger slowly subsided into a dark, abysmal depression. Suddenly, he was confronted with the fact that Phil really _wasn't_ over the miscarriage. The bloody knife and blood-stained bathroom were evidence enough to that. Phil was _still_ self-harming and Chris didn't know how to confront him about it without traumatizing him even further. Chris could tell that Phil was already disgusted with himself over the mutilation he had done to his body, and he didn't want to make him feel worse and risk sending him over the edge for good. The line he walked was incredibly fine.

His thoughts, and movements, came to an abrupt halt when a hand settled on his shoulder. He turned around and came face-to-face with Paul Heyman, Phil's manager. "What the hell do you want, Heyman?"

"Well, it's funny that you should ask that, Mr. Jericho, sir." Heyman was tumbling over his words, looking up at Chris' face and then looking down at the floor and back again. "Very funny, because, you see, I'm actually here about Phil."

Chris narrowed his eyes at the older man. "And why is Phil any of your concern?" He asked. "Last time I checked, you were only using him to get the ire of the Undertaker and throw Phil's reputation right down the garbage chute."

Paul smirked. "You flatter me, Mr. Jericho. But, actually, that's _not_ why I'm here." He took a deep breath, locked eyes with Chris, and began, "I wanted to let you know that Phil... _left_."

Chris' heart rose into his chest and for a minute, he couldn't breathe. "What do you mean, he 'left'?"

"I don't know how I can be any more frank with you, Mr. Jericho. Phil Brooks has left the building." And then he broke down into peals of laughter.

Chris, thinking about Phil on the run with the knife, or worse, didn't find this funny at all. "You sick bastard." Suddenly, Paul found himself pinned up to the wall. "You think this is funny, do you? You think this is a joke? He could _die_, you asshole!"

Now, Paul was choking as his neck rolls pressed down on his trachea. He coughed violently. His face was vibrant red, and he scrabbled at Chris' hands with desperation. Not _actually_ wanting to kill the man, which wouldn't do any good, Chris let go and watched the round man bend forward and gasp for air.

Chris left the corporate weasel sweating and panting in favor of trying to find Phil. He tried the locker room first to no avail before he listened to Heyman and ran outside. Chris let out a relieved sigh when he saw Phil a little ways down the street wedged between two dumpsters nestled against a pizza place. He set a brisk jog over to his baby. As he got closer, he realized Phil didn't have the knife or any other sharp object. He was simply sitting there, his knees drawn close to his chest with his arms wrapped around them, and his chin resting on his interlaced hands. Chris sat down pretzel-legged in front of him and gently untangled his hands and slipped his fingers between Phil's. He gently kissed each one of Phil's knuckles.

"What are you doing out here, love?" Chris asked quietly. Despite being in a busy city, it was relatively quiet where they sat. The wind nipped gently at their exposed skin, which was a welcome relief from the humid, stagnant air of the afternoon.

In response, Phil gave a weak shrug. Chris scooted closer and gave his boy a hug. Phil let out a long sigh into his chest.

"I need a break," Phil mumbled into the cotton of Chris' shirt. "I don't want to do this anymore."

"You mean wrestling?" Chris asked, absolutely appalled. Wrestling was Phil's _life._ Despite how much they loved each other, Chris knew, and was okay with the fact, that Phil would always love wrestling just a _tiny_ bit more than him. It had been his savior as a teenager and helped him become his own person.

Phil shook his head. He untangled one of his hands from Chris' and shook his sweatshirt sleeve until the knife fell out and landed on the ground with a subdued resounding noise. He pointed to it as he said, "I don't want to do that anymore."

Chris felt a wave of relief wash over his body. Happy tears welled in his eyes and he kissed his baby. "We can get you help, Phil! You can take a break from wrestling for a couple weeks and go to a facility."

Phil stared at the ground before he pulled his sleeve that had the knife in it up past his elbow. Fresh lines were pressed into his tattooed skin. Chris quickly counted and saw 12 shallow cuts and 1 that was of a decent depth.

"I don't want to do it anymore, but I can't go on without it," Phil whispered. Feeling Chris' eyes on his cuts, he self-consciously pulled the sleeve back down and stuffed his arms against his chest.

"Can you answer one question for me, Philly?" Chris asked as gently as possible. Phil looked at him, nodded, and then averted his gaze once again.

"Is this still because of the miscarriage?"

Phil stared at one of the wheels on the dumpster as tears welled in his eyes and fell down his face shamelessly. He sniffled once before shifting his body and digging into his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and started leafing through it before he found what he was looking for and handed it over to Chris. It was a sonogram.

"You wanna know something?" Phil whispered. Chris nodded instantly and waited for Phil to tell him. "Dr. Carole told me after he did the D&C that it was a boy. We were going to have a son. You would have taught him how to sing and play guitar, and I would have taught him how to play hockey and showed him the world of comic books. We would have taught him how to wrestle. We would have held him as a little baby, and in the blink of an eye we would have watched him take his first steps and then after that he'd practically be an adult. We would have been a family, Chris. We would have been complete."

Chris' heart twisted painfully. A _son._ He would have had a little boy that he could spend afternoons with and teach him little things about the world around them. But fate snatched up the opportunity and took him away.

"Sometimes I sit there and think about what I would have named him," Phil said distantly. "I think about what I'd do to him when I found out he got a girl pregnant. I think about him graduating from high school, and then college, and then doing something useful with his life. I miss him so much and I never even got to meet him."

After a few moments of uncomfortable, but not painfully so, silence, Phil spoke again, "Chris, I want a child so much. But I can't bring a baby into this world if I can't even walk past a knife without driving the blade into my skin. I need help. I don't want it, but I need it."

Chris wiped away Phil's tears, and then his own, before kissing Phil deeply.

"You are so brave, baby," Chris whispered into his cheek. "When you're all better, don't worry, love, we will start a family. I promise you."


	34. Chapter 34

The next week on RAW, Paul Hayman called Phil down to the ring to discuss his loss to the Undertaker at WrestleMania. It was clear that something was different about the Straight-Edge star as he made his way down the ramp, head bowed, hands stuffed into the pockets of his sweatshirt. Occasionally, he shot a wary look in either direction, a dead look in his eyes. To the fans that filled the arena, he was distraught because of his loss at WrestleMania. But Paul knew better. He didn't know about the miscarriage, but he _did_ know about Phil's issues with cutting.

Phil climbed into the ring, tossing back his hood. He looked at Hayman with red-rimmed, tired eyes. It was time. After a moment, one of the stage-hands handed him a mike. "Thank you." He mumbled, holding the mike aside.

"Well, Phil..." Hayman started. "We stand here, one week removed from WrestleMania, and the entire WWE Universe has been _obsessing_ over your match with the Undertaker. I refused to speak for you, so now, you have the floor..."

"Thanks, Paul." Phil said. He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and started, "I've been working for _years_ to finally, _finally_ gain respect in the WWE. And I thought I would finally obtain that by becoming the longest-reigning WWE Champion in the history of the company.'

"I found that magnificent reign shortened by the Rock, the greatest ass-kisser in the company. Nobody _knows_ how much that title meant to me, _nobody_, and nobody cared - as evidenced by Vince McMahon restarting the match after threatening to strip me of my title.'

"And I thought that maybe, just _maybe_, I would have a chance of winning it back. I had my re-match, I had my chance to regain the gold, but once again, it was taken from me unjustly. After that, I didn't have anything to lose and everything to gain. Maybe I'd take my chances with the streak?'

"But I lost that too. And now... You want to know what I want to do now..." Here, Phil trailed off. Not knowing what else to say, he let the mike fall out of his hand. He stared off into oblivion, a blank look on his face.

After a moment, he broke out of his stupor. He turned and embraced his manager, letting a few tears fall and soak into the collar of Paul's suit. Paul, needless to say, was absolutely stunned. When Phil finally broke away, he slid back out of the ring and walked off. His music didn't hit. He left to the cheers of his fans - whatever fans that he still had left. Once he hit the back, he allowed the tears to fall freely. Chris couldn't be there tonight, he had to do promotional work for Vince, so Phil found himself all alone.

Phil stumbled into his locker room and shut the door behind him gently. Sharp hiccups of breath accompanied the irrepressible flow of tears falling steadily from his eyes. He was finally ready to face his demons and stop cutting. As much as it was a safety blanket for him, and as much as he relied on it to feel normal, he was sick of relying on harming himself for a rush of endorphins. He mopped up some of the tears with the sleeve of his hoodie and wiped his nose before he brought his knees to his chest and cried harder. A soft knock came at the door.

"Phil?" he heard Paul ask. "What was that back there? Are you alright?"

"No," Phil sobbed out quietly. "But I'm going to be."

And then Phil spilled absolutely everything to his manager, the man he considered to be one of his best friends, and cried into his shoulder once he had finished speaking.

* * *

Chris arrived at the hotel room late that night tired and a little cranky. Vince had been busting his ass for the past several hours, and his fuse had been cut short. Despite the fact it was past three in the morning, Phil was awake and watching TV curled up in bed. It was pitch black aside from the glow coming from the television. Phil had himself cocooned in a blanket on his side, his back facing the door. A rather impressive mountain of used crumpled up tissues sat on the floor next to where he was lying down.

"Philly?" Chris called out quietly. Phil didn't move his head, but he let out a noise affirming he had heard. "We're gonna leave at around eight in the morning, okay? Your flight is at 10:30. I really wish I could fly there with you, but-"

"…but you have business obligations. I know."

Phil sounded a little bitter, so Chris took off his clothes and got into bed with him.

"Are you okay?" he asked tenderly.

"I told Paul," Phil said simply.

"What did you tell him?" Chris asked, confused.

"Everything," Phil whispered. "I'm so scared he's going to view me differently."

Chris felt for the younger man. Phil respected Paul Heyman more than he respected anyone else in the business side of the company. Heyman looked at him like he was his son, and Phil looked at him like he was his father. The mutual respect they had for each other was palpable to an extreme degree. For Phil to be worried about how Paul would react to everything he had told him was completely understandable.

"Philly, you're like a son to him," Chris stated the obvious. "He would never look at you differently. You could kill a man and he'd look at you the same."

"I hope you're right," Phil mumbled before his eyes slipped shut and he fell asleep.

Chris pressed a kiss to his bald head before shutting off the TV and following suit.

* * *

Phil lifted his carry-on bag and slung it on his shoulder before standing up and giving Chris a kiss.

"Be strong, my love," Chris murmured into his ear.

"I will," Phil promised. "I'll be strong for our family, for you, and most importantly, for me. I'll see you in a couple months."

"I love you," Chris whispered for fear of his voice breaking. The care facility Phil was going to didn't allow visitors. They thought it interfered with the initial and crucial stages of recovery.

"I love you too, Chris. I love you so much," Phil said.

He waved to Chris as he boarded the plane and found his seat. It had been difficult to find a facility that was suited to him, since the typical demographic of self-harmers is teenagers. However, a small facility in Missouri was suitable for his needs, and he and Chris had agreed it looked like a reputable place.

After a few hours of dozing off, the plane finally landed. He'd had arranged a taxi to pick him up at the airport, and it was waiting outside for him. He gave the driver directions. It was surprisingly close to the airport.

"Here you are," the driver said with a smile. Phil gave him an uneasy one back before giving him a tip and getting out. He looked up at the building with hope and a bit of fear seated at the bottom of his belly. He let out a long breath before going inside.

Immediately, he was met by a woman who had him leave his bags in the front office while she whisked him away to her own office.

"Good afternoon, Phil!" she said with a welcoming smile on her face. "Everyone at Brookside Knox is dedicated to helping you get better. I want to get to know you and why you decided to come here, if that's alright?"

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Phil muttered.

She completely brushed off what he said in favor of setting a notepad up on her crossed leg and clicking a pen open. "Let's start with the obvious. Why have you admitted yourself?"

"I fell into a manic depression where I was having delusions associated with the illness that caused me to start cutting myself."

"Were you prescribed any medications for the depression?" she asked.

"Shouldn't it be in my file or something?" Phil snipped. "Whatever. I was on Halcion and Wellbutrin. I stopped taking them because they weren't working."

After much back and forth conversation, the doctor felt Phil had narcissistic personality disorder, though that was unrelated to why he was in treatment, as well as major depressive disorder and psychosis as a result of post-traumatic stress disorder.

"I'm going to keep you on the Haldol and Wellbutrin. I believe that is a good combination of medication."

"So great that you _believe_ that," Phil muttered under his breath.

This inpatient experience, Phil already knew, was going to be complete hell.


End file.
